With All My Strength
by Rhi Aeffyll
Summary: He has been a warrior-king, then a lonely nomad, then a coven leader. He has worn many shoes, taken many lives, learned many things. Edward Cullen has roamed the earth for over a millennium, aimless and unchanged. Until now; until her.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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His existence is filled with riotous ambiguity. He is without death, eternally above the circle of life, and needs death to sustain himself. He is static in a world that exists _because_ of change. To have the desire for sexual congress without any hope of procreation is particularly vexing. He simply cannot reconcile his own everlasting life. It can not be resolved in his ancient mind, despite his immense knowledge, the wisdom of centuries, and his brilliant multifaceted consciousness. If he's being honest his intuitive and insightful nature only makes his ambiguous existence worse. Grasping issues at hand, knowing their fruition but being unable to see purpose, _reason_, is unconscionable to him. But his own providence remains elusive. It is a burden he has carried for nigh on 1600 years. _What does all of this mean? _He thinks to himself often, and he knows it is normal even for a vampire. This is even more true for humans. And he finds their inner monologues endearing, for the most part, deriving amusement from the self-coaching, self-deprecation, self-love, and most other iterations of "self" that he overhears in their thoughts.

The unease that has he felt for all that time remained without discernment until his formal education in the early days of his life in the New World. _Harvard was a vastly different place in the eighteenth century._And he laughs at a memory of white wigs and horse-shit, the baritone of his voice rising in the pre-dawn silence. Those early days of his education are perhaps the most poignant. His discovery that he was an intellectual, desirous of knowledge for its own sake, and that he had always been a scientist even if it was within the confines of his own mind was shocking and offensive to his warrior past. But he sloughed off those decayed sensibilities easily for the wondrous passion he felt for learning. New things are rare for those of his kind but Edward found that within the realm of Academia there is always something new to devour and digest. Over the last 323 years, he has discovered the power of physics, the grand sweep of climatology, the nuances of chemistry, the fragile beauty of biology. He's conquered countless languages, knows the genetic characteristics of the people who speak them, the anthropology of their culture, and the geography and geology of their home. The written word is his slave. Computers are his minions. And while he has little patience for the Liberal Arts, he has mastered those as well; history comes easily to those who have lived it. But for all his knowledge, he has no real answers. A scene from _The Dark Knight_plays vividly behind closed eyes and a maniacal Joker is saying to him, "You have nothing...nothing to do with all your strength..." By gods! he loves modern cinema.

Now he's sitting on a sheer cliff overlooking the pacific ocean. Occasionally, as the wind whips his auburn hair into a frenzy, he deeply breathes the cool air into his useless lungs. It's soothing and he's hypothesized that it's a holdover from his human life, one instinct that the venom didn't overcome. His left hand is smoothing over a jagged hunk of rock like sandpaper to wax, and it's this innocuous act that's made him contemplate his place in this world. As he exerts his will over the stone, he wonders what his lasting effect will be. _Is it enough to simply be? What impact can I make as _this_? _His frustration and discontent are mounting to match the ebullient hope in his stone heart. But these questions, with him from the beginning, remain without answers. After over a millennium, he wonders if he will ever find meaning. _Or love..._

_

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ahem- you know what to do._


	2. The Dark Curtain

A/N: I do not own this.

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If dates mattered to the Caledonii, they would've known it was the year 446 a.d. The Romans had been, for the most part, absent from the island for two generations and in the power vacuum that followed their departure the whole of Britain was plunged into the twin depths of destruction and war. Various native tribes warred amongst themselves, while invaders from the south, east and west, Angles, Saxons, Celts, and Cruithne, besieged the island intent on plunder, rapine and slaughter. Among these native tribes was a unique group. Born, bred and battle tested in the harsh north-winter were the Caledonii, and they were fierce. Their differences were apparent to any who looked at them, having red hair, green eyes, sharp features and longer, leaner forms than those of their neighbors. Differences ran deeper than appearance, though, because these people were truly native. Whereas most of the British Isles was populated with a variety of relatively recent immigrants, the Caledonii had been a fixture on the land for thousands of years, the smaller breeding pool responsible for their handsome, albeit strange physical attributes. Their lives were lived in transhumance, moving kith and kin with the seasons in order to survive the harsh and bleak winter months in the far north. The Romans had held them in contempt for this, but those _boy-lovers_ had been purged from the land, while the Caledonii had not. Very few contemplated these things, though, as their existence was dominated by war, and the procurement of food. Livestock numbers were dwindling with the dual hardship of frequent battles and slight drought. But, then again, the Caledonii numbers were dwindling, too. Attrition was taking its toll on all living things that called this rugged isle their home.

Aedwaerth was their leader, a warrior-king renowned in battle for his ferocity and uncanny speed, revered in all things for his wisdom and sound judgement, despite his youth. Kingship was passed down through paternal bloodlines among the Caledonii, and Aedwaerth became an orphan at the age of seventeen when his father, the king and only surviving member of his family, was slain in battle. The rites of kingship required no fewer than two weeks of unaided wilderness survival. He underwent the trails with verve, relishing the experience of being turned out to fend for himself. Typically, the men vying for leadership within the Caledonii came back in worse state that they were sent: alive, but hungry, tired, and ornery. But Aedwaerth was resourceful, and physically gifted. His speed, endurance and peerless obstinance were invaluable tools in the king's trails. Three weeks passed and though the tribal elders feared him dead, he returned fully clothed in deerskin, toting the skins of bear and bobcat on the end of two phalanx-length spears, seemingly well-fed, and with a grin that nearly split his face. Fully venerated and avowed, he began his kingship.

What followed was six years of agonizing repetition: fight, regroup, recover. During that time he watched the gradual decay of his people's life in northern Scotland. These years were vital to the development of his psyche. He saw himself as the weak link in the chain of kings, the fraud among them; he was principally a warrior, yet unable to stem the tide of destruction to his people. He won battles that made no difference to the vitality of the Caledonii, and the idea of extenuating circumstances was, at the time, uninvented. Despite reservations about his suitability for kingship, he warred and battled for his people relentlessly.

On one such campaign, in the brutal weather of 446 near to the winter solstice, he is huddled by a flickering fire deriving what warmth he can. The men under his command, nearly 400 steely eyed warriors, are doing much of the same: attempting vainly to stay warm under the oppressive, stark and frightening cold. He was feeling every one of his twenty-three years at that moment, the day's battle playing out behind tired lids...

_Aedwaerth __stood on a knoll, brown and bleak with the season. The sun's unusual tepidity lent credence to his uneasiness. He did not doubt the loyalty or courage of the men behind him, nor his unparalleled prowess, or cunning. But his mind had been laying a subtle plot, a subterfuge of sorts. His consciousness was ambiguous, had developed this duplicity over time. In truth, the man's circumstances to this point had allowed a suppression of a basic instinct: born of battle, swaddled in war, raised on death. But his age and responsibilities belied his abilities and training. As a fell wind swept up the hill, an urge to sheath his sword and dagger and run shocked him. Instead, his battle hardened body bent to the dusty ground and laid his tools there. On a knee, he wiped the sweat that had accumulated on his arms and hands off onto his worn leather clothes. As gentle as a lover he reached down, ran his fingers over the ground and gathered the decaying grass and dirt in two small handfuls. He slowly ground the earth between his hands, thereby expunging the insidious desire to flee._

_ When he stood back up, iron sword and dagger in hands, his countenance was grim. The warriors behind him took solace in his expression. Knowing him as they did, it was a comfort to them. They knew his clenched jaw, narrowed eyes, furrowed brow and flared nostrils were as good as a death sentence: for their opponents. Even bearing witness to his righteous fury firsthand many times, they were still awed by the power of it and none had ever withstood him. He put all things out of his mind, like the traitor-thought a moment before, and stripped his overactive thoughts away, one-by-one, until only the warrior-king remained. He felt only the thrice-forged blades in his hands, the wind in his hair and clothes, the tense flex of muscle, and the rustling of his men behind him. _

_ There was no call to battle, no war-cry, or senseless noise from his men. The threat to their homes and families supplied them all the rage and motivation necessary for a rout. Soundlessly sprinting down the hill toward their foe, the Warrior was of singular mind. No silly sentiments squelching his need to slake his blood-lust. Confidence thrummed off him like a siren song to his men, who took up the deadly charge a few steps behind. It was no coincidence that they had the high ground of the knoll, and were about to plow destruction into the ground and bodies below them. Beside being ruthless warriors, this was their home, and they knew the land well. The Warrior had hunted these lands since his ninth year and had learned the deer-paths as boy. They had soundlessly gained ground on the invaders due to superior knowledge and deadly ability. Unbeknownst to Aedwearth, he had become a master tactician, utilizing his intelligence and skills to procure an advantage. On this day their enemy was dead before the battle began._

_ The Caledonii reached the invaders front line quickly, and in a moment of intuition, the he noticed a weakness, an open spot in their second level of defense. Using the high ground to propel him, the Warrior leapt through the air. The Celt in front of him, expecting neither the change in trajectory or his violent velocity, reacted too slow. Twisting in the air, the warrior-king, with the Celt suddenly beneath him, lashed out with his sword, splitting the man in half from the crown of his head to the base of his neck. Before the first man's body hit the ground, the second row of invaders was in turmoil, attempting to react to the momentum, speed and ferocity of the Warrior in their midst. It was futile. By the time the third Celt was forever silenced, the rest of the Caledonii had engaged. Immediately making inroads to the heart of the invader host, they left rivers of blood and carnage in their wake. The Celtic invaders were routed in a matter of minutes. Only when the Warrior hoisted the ruined head of the Celt's leader, and pried the golden torc from his savaged neck, did the Caledonii erupt in cries of victory with the dead and the dying at their feet. _

_ But even during victory Aedwaerth could not entirely banish the sense of unease that was growing within him. Even with the blood of his enemies staining his clothes and hair, he could not escape the awareness of doom that had settled upon him and he knew when something needed consideration. A fault-line had formed in his mind and he knew the end was near. Maybe it would not happen for many years, but it would come. He told himself that this was simply a process all men went through, whereupon the brashness and arrogance of youth is weeded out and replaced with the cool assurance of experience and the knowledge that eventually all men die. Girded with this bleak realization he released his grip on the dead Celt's thick hair. After hearing a soft thud, he turned to his brothers-in-arms and said, "Let's go home."_

They haven't made it home yet. Their tactical advantage in battle was gained at the expense of moving farther afield than strictly necessary. One night away from the hearth-fires may seem innocuous, but Aedwearth knows survival is a thin line for the wounded.

It is pitch black night outside the perimeter of light the fires provide, the delineation like a rippling, roughly circular beast wanting to encroach, intimidate, devour. And there is a malignancy on the edges of his mind; a dark, alien force that is truly beyond his comprehension, yet inspiring a gut-wrenching dread. It occurs to him, that after more than two decades of life, he might be afraid of the dark. Talented minds are often prone to fanciful imaginings, but this is not something he can withstand. Noting that he needs to void anyway, and thus rationalizing leaving the warmth and safety of the fire and friends, he unfolds his tall form from the fetal position underneath his bearskin blanket and disappears into the dark curtain.

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A/N: I suppose I'd like to be told whether or not to continue this story. It's time consuming, and if it's tedious and generally fail, please let me know.


	3. With Gaping Maw

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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With Gaping Maw

The cold ground permeates Aedwaerth's calloused feet as he strides into the pitch stillness, and the thick pads pricked with what could have been fire or ice. He almost immediately regrets his decision to leave the warmth of his pallet and the fires, only vaguely recalling why he got up in the first place. _Prideful fool! What reason could I possibly have for being out here?_ Despite his self-flagellation, he continues on into the darkness, for reasons beyond his own understanding. He only knows he can hear his name on the wind, irrefutable and alluring. Having been blessed with acute senses, it takes roughly 20 paces outside the fires for his eyes to adjust to the nearly non-existent light provided by the stars. He weaves his way into the edge of the old forest, sidestepping birch, aspen and pine, ducking below branches and guiding his hands along the trunks of each tree he passes. He moves like a gentle breeze, sinuous and smooth. When his graceful movements split the most recent battle wound at his side, he curses and he can feel the blood seeping, soaking into the deerskin at his waist. As he stops to wipe at the wound with his hand, he catches a pale form in his peripheral vision and drops, facing the enemy, into a fighting crouch. His bloody right hand goes over his left shoulder, where his sword should be but isn't, and he somehow knows it's useless anyway.

Tanya watches, mimicking his movements with superior fluidity from a safe distance of 200 paces. She has been watching for years now. And she sees in Aedwaerth all that she desires.

***

She arrived in Britain as the consort of Constantine III, after meeting and seducing him in Italy. He was a Roman soldier of some renown at the time of their initial acquaintance, and under her tutelage (for he was not even remotely intelligent) he won the regard and allegiance of his men, quickly asserting himself as the heir apparent for commander of the legion. It was his insubstantial intellect, and her alternative drinking habits which allowed her to avoid exposure as something _other_ for so long. It was an ideal situation for her, in that she could exert considerable influence over the affairs of men for a length of time, in addition to receiving extensive amorous advances from a physically fit, if somewhat boorish, Legionnaire. This is a deviation from her typical love-em-to-death routine for no other reason than boredom. The eternity that stretches out before her seems daunting without occasional, mindless forays into the human world.

When Constantine III gets elevated to the status of earth-bound-god cum Emperor of Rome, she leaves him. Not the typical progression of relationships in the pre-middle ages, but, then again, nothing is typical about vampirism. And Tanya has zero interest in tolerating the human's ever burgeoning ego. So for the next few dozen years she reverts to her ways as the Succubus, inciting ecstasy, deriving pleasure, crushing pelvises, and exsanguinating bodies. So she wanders, taking in the sights, sounds and flavors of Iron-Age Britain, known then as Pryden, and she is satisfied.

Fulfilled in her existence, she was not prepared for the paradigm-shift she experienced upon seeing a naked 17-yr-old Caledonii named Aedwaerth jogging through the forest on his first day of the King's trials. Young, lithe muscle rippled over his back and legs as he loped quickly, for a human, through the forest. _Finally_, she thought, _here is a man worthy of my attentions._

So instead of taking him on the spot, she followed him at an undetectable distance, impressed more by the hour as his survival skills earned him food, clothing, warmth, and eventually the regard and kingship of his people. After a few weeks of rigorous language immersion, during which she extricates the appropriate dialect, vernacular and syntax from a few remotely located and all-too-willing farmers, she begins her observations in earnest. She watched him mature into a wise and magnificent king, preternaturally gifted killer, and flawless physical specimen. And she knew there was something more to him than other humans. She listened in on his Kingly mediation duties, amazed at how quickly and judiciously he resolved conflicts between angry and obdurate villagers. She watched his battles with little fear for his life, given his ability to seemingly anticipate his opponent's maneuvers. Gifts of such magnitude were uncommon for humans, but those that were changed showing more than latent gifts became formidable vampires. So after six years of intermittently following Aedwaerth Caledonii, Tanya came to a decision: to change him, and own him.

***

When she smells the blood, she knows it is time. In truth, it is past time, and she has only restrained herself this long because she knew there was no way she could get close to him without taking everything. And despite imagining this moment for years and knowing his arcane and lilting language she doesn't know what she will say to him. She only knows that their confrontation will end in a bite, and three days of agony for her Aedwaerth. She'd like to have his human body, too, but she's hesitant given the last half-decade of hard, habit forming humping.

She approaches him slowly for her, and to Aedwaerth it seems like a frolicking goddess has decided to scare him senseless on his ill-advised piss. In perhaps a self-perpetuating cycle, a blissful moment passes where he is caught up in her beauty and vice versa. Moonlight illuminates her every step, and her tunic is caked with mud from the ground up. _It looks like she grew from the earth_. Clearer every smooth step towards him, he can begin to outline the curve of her body as it shifts under the fabric. About 50 paces away, his former fear pricks at his neck and it's her body's motions which ignite and accentuate his dread. He knows women, has lived with them, loved one, left plenty, but these are not the movements of any thing he has seen. The moment his fear returns, and Tanya sees it, she removes all human pretenses and simply _appears_ at his side.

Aedwaerth's pagan upbringing allows for a myriad of fantastical creatures, but not her. Tanya's simple presence is conjuring a near panic-attack coupled with inexplicable and graphic images of them coupling, running side-by-side, and then one bloody image, with her at his neck, he can't place. While his body has invoked the flight response, his mind, awash in so much adrenaline, is frozen stiff; he can barely process her frigid digits pulling his right hand into her mouth. And as he stares into her blood red eyes, his hand distending her cheek, the last image falls into place like the last brown leaf before winter. _I am that leaf;_ _inevitably dead. _And she lunges with gaping maw.

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heh... some of you thought there might be dialogue eh? nope. not yet.


	4. Vampire Biology

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Present Day

Edward knows pain well. Discomfort was a focal-point in the lives of the Caledonii, and in the lives of warriors. And the well-over 1500 intervening years have done nothing to diminish his memory of his transformation. Sometimes, less now than at other times during his life, he wishes his death had been Tanya's intention. At least then he wouldn't have had to feel the unendurable agony that is the transformation from _homo sapiens _to _homo vampiris. _Having her teeth slice nearly to his spinal cord would have been plenty, and his mouth contorts into something between a snarl and a grimace at the double-crescent-insult-to-injury his hand is worrying; nearly every vampire he's ever met has internally commented on the size of her bite mark. _That gauche bitch nearly bit my head clean off_. Even Jasper with his myriad markings has teased him over her Tanya's wicked underestimation.

This errant annoyance isn't enough to displace his original line of thinking though, and now he's contemplating the fortuity of his gifts all those years ago.

As a warrior, he'd been trained to ignore pain in the maelstrom of battle, and to remain calm under any circumstances and he drew upon this during his transformation. He'd been trained to focus on the fight, the whirling blades, cut and parry as the means to distract from aching muscles and nagging injuries. In the midst of unrivaled fire, there is little for him to distract himself with except only the words being spoken to him. It is mindless chatter for the most part, the gum-flapping of another enamored woman. Gradually he discovers those words being spoken about him, and though the voice is similar he somehow knows these words aren't being spoken aloud. Through his own clever nature, and Tanya's mental conjecture on the manifestation of his human talents, Aedwaerth comes to realize that he is hearing her mind. Despite the overwhelming pain and the disconcertion of hearing someone else's thoughts, he remands the upwelling of panic. The tactician in him engages, and given the situation, opts for intelligence gathering.

Inadvertently, through her mental preparation in how to deal with Aedwaerth as a newborn, and eventually a lover and mate, Tanya divulged nearly every bit of information he needed to know about being a vampire. Lucidity is hard to come by in moments of agony, but Aedwaerth managed to glean one genuine brilliant thought through the pain: _run, run from this parasite._ When his heart slows then stops, and the pain begins to recede, that's exactly what he does. He doesn't see Tanya again until the early 1900's.

***

As a scientist, and comprehensively curious creature, Edward has done extensive studies on the transformation, and in vampire biology in general. When he and Carlisle heard about the invention of the electron microscope in 1931, he did a quadruple backflip through the roof of their house. They had been looking at human tissue subjected to venom through rudimentary optics since thinking of doing it in the mid-1700's. They were somewhat frustrated there was not a commercially available model until eight years later, but filled the time between planning and executing various preliminary experiments. They bought a fleet of the things when they became available, and what they had discovered by the end of 1940 was profound.

The venom they used to incapacitate prey, lubricate their bodies, and infect and transform others was a hyperactive, fast-acting retrovirus. While fundamentally similar to HIV-1, or any other RNA virus, the venom was infinitely more complex: the genes represented within the venom contained more retroviral DNA than the host cells, and it infected and spread quickly enough to preserve the host's consciousness and life, even if it's in an altered state. Which helped explain the overwhelming superiority of Edward and his peers. He can even remember Carlisle's typically understated grunt of disapproval when he made the joke, "No wonder we think of them as food. We're superior on a genetic level, too! Besides, the difference between a chicken and a human is only a few percent, and this is a staggering disparity."

The revelations didn't end there, though, the clumsy and unreliable TEM being primarily responsible for a multitude of discoveries. What Carlisle and Edward learned next was the beginning of end of all magic to both of them. During the transformation, the retroviral DNA reprogrammed the structure and function of every cell within the body, the main changes happening to structure and energy absorption. The changes involved the molecules being arranged into a cubic lattice, like that of minerals, in turn responsible for the hardness of their skin and it's unusual reaction to sunlight. Mitochondria ceased all function, but it seemed that each cell in the body had become capable of energy consumption on a scale that baffled both vampires; thermal, electromagnetic and full spectrum light radiation were being absorbed into the crystalline cell structure, which in turn powered every motion, thought, and function performed. Furthermore, blood only provided the protein hemoglobin, which was a relatively simple facilitator in the whole wonderful process. Upon their discovery, Edward found he had a need to sit down for the first time in his long life.

The two of them had sat in their laboratory in the basement of their home for seventeen hours, unmoving, in relentless shock, until Carlisle made a joke about patenting themselves, followed by Edward's lame retort on both of them being a perpetual motion machine. Then they left and hunted down some hemoglobin.

That's what he had been doing today when he breezed into a meadow in the Olympic National Park, near Forks, Washington, his family's new home. It captured his attention immediately, the roughly circular space feeling otherworldly, hemmed in so nicely by the spruces and carpeted so completely by the multihued wildflowers. There was a faint human scent that lingered somewhat despite the cool, faintly salty nighttime breeze, and it made his throat tickle, catch and burn more than usual. But Edward attributed this to his intention to hunt, thinking _I must still be in the mood_. He's still laying amongst the flowers, breathing deeply the heavenly scents of the flowers and forest, tracking the Milky Way in its subtle slice across the sky and thinking about why he finds the meadow so enthralling. _It must be the rarity of this place, it's uniqueness and quality. And that I can enjoy it without tarnishing it... or hearing incessant humping while I'm here._

While he values his coven-family immensely, nighttime in a household with them can be tedious at the best of times. And downright maddening at the worst. He's waited so long for love like they have, he's begun to vacillate wildly between two diametrically opposed sentiments: hope for love and companionship, and abject despair and doubt at ever finding it. He begins to wonder if loneliness can destroy a vampire mind, because lately he's noticed a disturbing trend in his consciousness: apathy. It's not something he's familiar with despite living more than twenty human lifetimes. One constant, and consequently something he derived comfort from, was always finding something that engaged him. His disquiet grows each second he ponders the daunting task of eternal life devoid of motivation.

The next day, he mentions this to Carlisle, the creature who knows him best.

"Edward, you've been taking classes for three centuries. No wonder you're bored."

"I suppose, but there were some classes at UW that I was interested in."

"Like what?"

"Well, there was a fluid dynamics seminar, and I had planned on a few economics classes, as well."

Carlisle sighs and feels a little silly giving someone more than four times his age advice, but presses on when he sees the signs of distress beginning to show on Edward's unusually expressive face: the pinched and furrowed brow, lips set in a fine line.

"Didn't you take fluid dynamics in '97 at MIT? Anyway, Smith and Keynes have been dead awhile, my friend, and I don't remember hearing about any astounding new economic theories."

Edward's silence is tantamount to acceptance.

"Why don't you teach? You're the most knowledgeable person on just about any subject on the entire planet. I've always maintained that you would be an excellent professor."

Carlisle is busy backing up his argument with unspoken affirmatives, his medical mind listing reasons for the change-of-pace like a hyper-speed powerpoint. Edward glances up, a quizzical look on his face.

"I wasn't aware you felt so strongly about this, about me teaching."

"It's not teaching so much as a feeling that you need a change. You've been stuck in a holding pattern for nearly as long as I've known you. Maybe it would be a good idea to give back a little."

Upon that final statement, Edward is bombarded by thoughts from his family, all in agreement with Carlisle. He focuses in on Alice, wanting to see the outcome of his decisions, but she's stonewalling him. An atypical reaction, but not without precedent. She sometimes withholds information about the future from him to "keep him on his toes." He takes her annoying predilection for surprises in stride, knowing that she always has his best interest in mind. What she does tell him is slightly annoying, but at this point he's willing to do anything to escape the doldrums that are leaving his mind adrift.

"Edward," she says with a hint a hesitancy, "There is a slight problem with the professor thing. Between the combination of your age," twenty-six seems to be the limit of what humans will believe, "and the expedient need for false documentation," it's always irked him that he couldn't claim his actual academic achievements after moving, "the only place you can teach is a high school. Please, please, please come teach at Forks High! You could be my teacher!"

Despite his hatred for the high school institution, he is loath to upset Alice, the youngest looking Cullen: the only one forced to attend high school on a semi-regular basis. Allowing himself to be caught up in her enthusiasm, he reluctantly agrees. Besides, what better opportunity could he find to shape young minds? He can feel the tedium recede slightly with the thought of imparting the knowledge he has gleaned over the centuries. His instincts, which have served him well, exude a sense of rightness.

"Okay, Alice. What will I be teaching? Anything but health." He cringes at the thought. He's learned to temper his vampire strength, but rolling condoms onto a banana may be beyond him.

She opens her mind to the visions, with the determinant factors decided; lab tables, beakers and microscopes flash through their minds.

"Biology!"

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A/N: I've decided to forgo the cursory introduction of canon twilight characters. You know them, I know them. They're all there, though some will be more prominent than others, I just want to introduce their particular intricacies as the story goes. Most will have AU histories, like Aedwaerth/Edward does, but that will all be dealt with in time. Also, the story will be switching back and forth b/w present day, and Aed's past. I hope everyone is enjoying the story, review if you please!


	5. Loss Incarnate

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Bloodlust for Aedwaerth is like the daily tides: inexorable, inevitable. The force exerted by his own mind to feed on humans is like the gravity of the moon; he will be crushed if he does not give in. His mental faculties are debilitated, the reasoning centers of his brain are disoriented, and he murders indiscriminately for more than thirty seasons.

There is only the hunt, the kill, the relief and the quickly reappearing burn which incites a repeat. He is other, entirely alienated from anything remotely resembling human. Luckily for his yet-to-develop conscience, he is drawn by scent almost exclusively to the battlefields of Pryden, enraptured by blood exposed to air on such a scale. He feeds on dying soldiers strewn behind the tireless beast of war, and there is no adequate precedent to compare the sensation of drinking blood. It consumes him. His victims are resigned to their fate and when they beg for the release of death; he accedes. When he isn't playing Charon, he is a forest wraith, moving so fast and so far afield it seems he is barely corporeal.

Encounters with nomadic vampires are not infrequent given their tendency to congregate at battle sites. Amidst the haze of territorial bloodlust, Aedwaerth uses his mental abilities and newborn strength with deadly effect. He anticipates any aggressive maneuvers and preempts any defensive tactics. The island is his by any and all means. Within a few years as a vampire, Aedwaerth has done what he never endeavored to as a human: rule the entirety of Pryden. Solitary vampires and mated pairs become ash under his heel.

He experiences unfettered joy at the sensations of his new body. Before he had been an exceptional human specimen, his vanquished enemies a testament to the power and speed he possessed. But that deadly combination is tame and tawdry compared to this. Reflex doesn't exist; there is simply action, absolute control over his facilities. The electrical impulses controlling his movements travel the synapses and traverse his enhanced nerves faster than a human body could tolerate.

The precision and breadth of his strength is miraculous and he finds the only limits lie when having to leverage his own weight. And despite the unyielding quality of his skin, he can tell he still weighs about fourteen stone: the law of conservation of mass applies to vampire transformation, too.

The tailwind that follows his forest romps makes him grin, as do the deep ruts his feet leave in the earth as he accelerates. The brilliant clarity of his vision, accompanied by the heightened differentiation in color and newly visible light spectrum leaves him trancelike at trivial and tame sights. Between his vampire audition and his telepathy, the world has become a noisy and distracting place. Perhaps the most abrupt and drastic change is his ability to process and synthesize every last bit of information from every single enhanced sense, and commit it to eternal memory.

These physical sensations are the source of his alienation; they've left him with no reference to his human life. There is little or no reconciliation between his human life and his new vampire existence while the bloodlust dominates.

Some winter, nearly ten years after his change, he has wandered to the far north near his Caledonii. By chance, or providence, the first one of his kinsfolk he comes upon is an ascetic, sitting under a haphazard lean-to at the mouth of a cave. He is a relic of the druids forced into secrecy by the Roman emperor Tiberius in 22 A.D. This man is learned and as close to a religious leader as the Caledonii have. The tenor of his thoughts is unlike anything Aedwaerth has experienced so far; he is in meditation, the chant rendering his mind in soothing, colorful tones. This is the first human that Aedwaerth has come across that did not unduly provoke his hunger, and he scrambles silently up the talus slope adjacent to the mangy wise-man.

He's been sitting, utterly silent, for a few hours, privy only to the skinny hermit's thoughts when the first memory of his human life resurfaces. It's simultaneously inconsequential and vital. In his mind's eye he's sitting by a stream, bare feet buried in the mud at the water's edge with his sword in hand. It's braced on his leg at the pommel and on the stone at the tip, and he's running a wet rock over the length of the blade, sharpening the iron into a perfect instrument of death. The repetitive motion of his hands is hypnotic and matches the rhythm of the ascetic's chanting in real time. He's pulled out of the memory gradually as it fades into the recesses of his mind, but the precarious link to his human life is established.

Anxiety and disquiet tighten in his chest when the dreamlike trance he was in is disrupted, so he refocuses his telepathic talents onto the repetitive meditations that inadvertently generated the first memory. Though his patience and focus is tried, his goals are actualized. Memories begin to resurface at a steady rate. The culmination of his meditative state is a fully-formed memory with dim sights, sounds, and sensations as his augmented brain converts the human experience.

_Adventurous and able, the two outdistanced all their companions in a race. In fact, most had turned back in favor of another trial; a game that one of the rest might actually have a chance to win due to the absence of a certain pair._

_The race was no short affair, taking the better part of an afternoon. If the dappled sunlight cooperated they would catch glimpses of each other through the trees as they moved quickly and stealthily._

_Autumn's silence was complete, the forest seemingly complacent in the return of winter. The cold air hung heavy under the bower of the woods, and their panted breath swirled, crystalline in their wake. When he glanced over his shoulder and they made eye contact, she surged, feeling satisfaction, and the cool hard ground gripped under her feet. Then just as he rounded the turn-around, a massive oak with five thick branches forking evenly at head height from a stout trunk, he vanished._

_She clenched her fists in frustration and pressed on, a few seconds away. Reaching out with a calloused hand, she used the nearest branch of the oak as a pendulum. Mid-air, she collided with a devious, grinning thirteen year old boy. The playful roughhousing was short-lived, and he was properly chagrined when she was crumpled under him gasping and croaking for air._

_They gradually became aware of their intimate position amidst his breathless apologies, her thrown fists and gasped insults, but neither shied away, the two of them caught in constant unspoken competition. Even then, especially then, the warrior was a willing slave to his instincts. Infused with the adrenaline and endorphins from the afternoon's activities his mind relinquished control, drawn in to the unconsciously alluring creature beneath him. As he leaned down over her wide baffled eyes, he pulled her raven-dark hair from her slightly parted lips and kissed them._

Aedwaerth knows two things immediately after the memory recedes. One: that this was the most poignant moment in his young life. Two: that this girl, whom he once loved, was raped and murdered at the hands of invading Saxon vermin not long after their first intimate encounter.

The grief claws at his heart like living thing, loss incarnate. The sharp contrast he finds in the stillness of the world around him accentuates his profound and overwhelming emotional upheaval. In the cool mountain air of his home, Aedwaerth has already begun to remake himself in his own human image, despite the vague discontinuity of his memories. His rational mind is triggered, and his humanity is reengaged. Never again will he let the animal within him enslave his mind or reign his consciousness.

By way of thanks, he tracks and kills a deer in the nearby forest to lay at the mouth of the cave for the underfed hermit. Then he vanishes like mist on a sunny morning into the mountains to contemplate his eternal existence.


	6. Taming Werewolves

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Edward considers himself the leader of his family mainly because of his conflict resolution skills. Then there is the alternative diet which unites them; a lifestyle that he and Carlisle discovered inadvertently. But the truth is no one is more suited to leading, guiding, shaping the course of their future. Aedwaerth Caledonii was born to lead, and his family members couldn't agree more.

Besides his immense age and wisdom Edward has a commanding presence that has little to do with his physicality. The intangibles of his posture, the soft steel of his voice, his manifest intuition, and the quality of his character are invaluable tools, having helped his family in more occasions than they'd care to admit. He stifles a laugh remembering Jasper, upon their initial acquaintance, strongly resisting the impulse to call him Sir.

But Edward doesn't relish the tasks appointed to him. Rather, he acts in accordance with his judgement on how to best care for those he loves. And therein lies the true heart of a leader: selflessness.

It is for all these reasons, and more, that he is romping through the forest towards La Push, and the Quileute Reservation.

The family has been in Forks for a few weeks, and after just a few days began discovering unusual and unique things in the local area. First, there was the repellent smell west of town which, despite their curiosity at such an anomaly, they studiously avoided. Secondly, Alice was experiencing was Emmett was referring to as "blackouts" in her visions. In other words, total removal of her second sight for short periods. Alice is completely nonplussed and, as only Edward and Jasper know, somewhat frightened. Third is the large, completely unfamiliar and definitely disconcerting tracks they have found covering the local area, again, mainly to the west of town. There's no doubt it's a predator, due to the mostly eaten herbivore carcasses they keep finding, but its all the wrong shape for a bear and much too large for a wolf or coyote. Then there is the spacing of the prints, which implies the animal must be moving at a pace that rivals vampire speed. The final straw is almost comical, and Edward might not be traipsing through the forest in aimless search if Rosalie hadn't answered the phone earlier this evening.

A male with a deep voice had dialed the house phone at 11:00pm, about two hours ago. The conversation went like this:

"Can I speak to your leader?" His terseness was matched only by his rude tone.

After laughing at the unusual request, the most volatile Cullen responds, "Who _says_ that? What do you want, freak?"

"Who are you calling a freak, you bloodsucking whore?" Edward and Emmett, playing video games intently, are on their feet and at the phone next to Rosalie almost instantly. For her part, she responds appropriately and quickly, "Who is this? What do you want, asshole?"

Edward subvocalizes a grunt of displeasure at her obscenities, knowing it will do nothing but incense the mysterious caller.

"Just stay off Quileute land, leech." _Click._

After an intense, heated family discussion on the matter they had come to an agreement that the caller and the other mysteries of Forks must be correlated. Alice put two and two together when, just after deciding to take a stroll through the reservation, Edward's future went completely blank. Quelling Esme's and Alice's fears about going alone was less difficult than convincing Jasper and Emmett that he didn't need their help. But he does both, reminding Alice that her visions have always returned, and he'll keep her speed dial punched in on the keypad of his phone. He tells Emmett and Jasper that they look too intimidating, that he doesn't want them scaring the as-yet-undefined-creatures off. He would have gotten away with the lie if he wasn't broadcasting smug amusement as he walked out the front door. Carlisle knows to let him go, trusts him to return with a satisfactory resolution. He's seen the firsthand evidence of Edward's ability to defend himself, has been with him long enough to know that he prefers the lone warrior approach. If it comes to blows, Carlisle mainly worries for the other guys, whatever they may be.

There is a darker reasoning behind Edward's demand for solitude in this task. He would never risk his family, and considers his own life insignificant. It's not that he doesn't care if he lives or dies, it's simply that he is realizing that he has little reason to continue his existence in the way that he has before. Which has put him in quite a conflicted state since he's always hated nihilists.

Edward beelines for First Beach, knowing whatever is making those tracks won't be as comfortable in water as he is, so he has an exit strategy. And since following orders is not in him, it pleases him that the beach is right in the heart of the reservation: a petty, but symbolic act of defiance. When he starts hearing heavy footfalls, panted animal breathing and low growls they are several miles away, and he begins to search for thoughts with his mind. He has a theory that these beasts must be tamed and tied to the Quileutes if nothing else. What he hears is staggering, and fascinating.

There are three of the horse-sized wolves, and their thoughts come in triplicate, an originator with two echoes: another form of telepathy. What makes their thoughts even more intriguing is the undercurrent of animal instinct. From the timbre of their minds they are clearly human and they think of themselves as human, but he can also hear their reaction to his scent, their anger at being ignored and the instinctual pack cooperation and coordination.

In a matter of seconds, Edward has discerned their nature, temperament, and intentions, and has devised a suitable plan. He genuinely likes Forks, especially his meadow, and wants to stay. Establishing an amicable relationship is priority number one. As they draw closer for the kill, Edward sits down in the sand, Indian style(which brings a small grin to his face), and says aloud, "Sam, Paul, Jared... my name is Edward Cullen. May I speak with you for a moment?"

At first, the wolves think the lone vampire must have a death wish. When they hear their names, and see the vampire's relaxed posture and facial expression, they are thrown for a loop. Surprise and suspicion are awash in their thoughts; the only thing keeping them from pouncing and ripping Edward to shreds is his submissive posture.

"This might be a little easier if one of you were to shift back to human form." Edward's tone is even, laden with patience and tolerance, but he's not going to let them discover that he can hear their thoughts. And he wants their discussion to begin with them making a concession.

Edward watches in scientific rapture as the largest wolf steps slightly behind the other two, black fur ripples, shrinks and shifts into a very tall, very naked Quileute Indian. Edward cannot contain his wonder at the spectacle he just witnessed. "Sam, that was miraculous. You've restored my faith in the supernatural."

"Why are you here."

"I told you we needed to speak."

"Why aren't your eyes red?"

"You're very abrupt."

"Answer me, leech." Sam's sneer has reached epic proportions.

With a deep sigh, Edward presses on. "If you'll permit me, I'd like to tell you about my family, and by extension, our lifestyle. It varies quite significantly from the vampires you've encountered before."

Edward is not fooled by Sam's belligerent questioning, nor the bared teeth of the two wolves barely beyond arms length. All three of them are immensely curious about this vampire with golden eyes, who has the gumption to sit, _Indian style_, on their beach and have a polite discourse with multiple natural enemies. Edward, despite his penchant for honesty and forthright dealings, is a masterful manipulator. While his intentions are a testament to his innate goodness, his manipulative habits are a natural result of his mind reading abilities. While he sits there, at their mercy, he can literally hear the respect and regard for him spawn in their minds. They think him fearless, as if courage personified is sitting at their feet and civility paired with kindness can go a long way towards dissolving even magic-fueled anger.

"I think what you'll be most interested in is our diet." A pregnant pause, played for maximum effect. "We feed exclusively on the blood of animals. The result is our golden eye color, among other, less outwardly visible changes." He feeds them a sad smile. "It does not make us human, but it tames our nature to a certain extent. The longer we abstain, the easier it becomes." The sad smile turns into a lopsided grin. "And I have abstained for nearly six centuries. Blood no longer has the same draw for me that it once did. It is fuel only, and animals sustain us sufficiently."

Edward is a magnificent communicator. His telepathy allows him to cultivate a report with even his natural enemies. And Sam's curiosity is piqued past the point of no return. "You've abstained for 600 years." His tone is flat. "How old are you?"

"When I was human we didn't exactly keep a calender. But looking at backdated historical events that correlate with my human experiences puts me at nearly 1600 years old, 1580 or so."

"How do we know you aren't lying about not killing anyone? We _will_ protect our people from you. We can expose you."

"Think about things for a moment, please. Have there been any murders in the area in the three weeks we've been here? How could we keep a permanent home? How could Carlisle be a doctor, or I a teacher? You must know we all keep professions. We've immersed ourselves in the human world because we want more than bloodlust and murder." Edward takes a deep breath, evaluating their minds for how to proceed and decides again that honesty is truly the best policy. He only hopes that his sincerity won't be misinterpreted as some sort of deviant vampire behavior.

"None of us started this existence by choice, but five of my seven family members have killed humans. It's true that our instincts are powerful. I'm sure you've seen the evidence of that." While he's endeavoring to earn their trust, he's also contemplating the memories he's witnessing of the three of them destroying two male vampires sometime in the previous spring. "In spite of our past transgressions, and in some cases because of them, we've all rediscovered our humanity. In our own ways, we try to contribute to this world."

The cadence of his voice is nearly hypnotic, has them listening intently. He delights in the serendipity of coming to First Beach, the place where the ritualistic elucidation of the Quileute legends takes place. At this very moment he has all three of them as enraptured as they were listening to the legends of the cold ones for the first time. "In the ways that matter, gentlemen, we are more alike than either of us would care to admit. We must both hide our true natures, and deal with the relative loneliness and alienation that entails. We both understand the fragile commodity that is human life, and because of that we both value it greatly; we'll defend this territory against others of our kind as fiercely as you do if you acquiesce to our presence here. Furthermore, we possess physical gifts that set us entirely apart from the general population." Another sad smile. "And the thing that makes us most similar... we desire the normality which was robbed from us. While it's nice to be able to run fast, and recover quickly, and jack a car up without your bare hands, I know we all wish that vampires and shape-shifters didn't exist."

"Yeah."

Edward glances around, making eye contact with each of the supernatural creatures before pressing on. "If you have no objections, I'd like to tell you about myself, and by extension, my family. You see, I was born the son of a king in the highlands of ancient Scotland..."

***

By the time Edward wraps up the tale of his life, and how his family came about, the sun is brightening the sky to the east, he's ignored several texts and phone calls from his family. After a momentary pause to check his cellular, he knows he has only about 10 min to make it home before things get a little sketchy. Forks will be experiencing a rare sunny day so he quickly wraps things up. "Well, guys, I must be going. The sun is making an appearance today and I really can't be seen walking about. My intention in coming here was to uncover the mysteries that have confounded us these last few weeks, and hopefully establish amicable relations with... whatever we found. I hope we're well on the way to doing that. Since you have our phone number, how about calling to set up a time where we can meet with you and the elders and establish whatever boundaries you're comfortable with. Anytime day or night is fine," he says with a wink.

"Oh yeah, sorry about earlier. We were calling under a misapprehension."

"Think nothing of it, boys, Rosalie can be quite a bitch." Hesitant laughter follows his footsteps through the forest. In the next few moments as he's running home, he's barely able to contain his mirth; he's just tamed three shapeshifting werewolves.

* * *

A/N: As you can probably tell, these Cullens have never come into contact with the Quileute wolves before. I was always annoyed at the way that canon portrayed their relationship. Seems to me they have enough in common to maintain a cordial relationship. And with Edward's slightly advanced turning age of 23, coupled with his mind reading, it just seems natural that he's the leader of the coven/family.


	7. Vortigern's Folly

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Time means something altogether different for an immortal, and it has little to do with the cognitive or physical differences between humans and vampires. There is a pressing urgency that defines human life that is wholly incomprehensible to Aedwaerth now. But he can see the inherent beauty of their fragile condition and he laments the loss of his previous life. He knows, for all intents and purposes, that there will always be another dawn, another day to devour. He can't fathom a life that goes on forever. _How long will this continue?_

On this particular day, Aedwaerth is high up in the mountains that hem in his homeland. The mischief, murder and mayhem of the last decade weigh heavily on his mind, the grief and anger exerting their insidious influence on his decision making. After a few days of stone-still consideration and internal scrutiny he has made several resolutions.

_I will not subsist on the innocent. No more._ While his appetites were usually slaked on the ruined bodies of dying soldiers, there were other meals he'd made of families, farmers, and freemen. _And I ended them. No more._ _The sounds... _He can recall their screams, thoughts ranging from frantic to resigned, both dull thud and sharp smack of their flailing appendages as they hit at his unyielding body and every last gargled inhalation with perfect acuity.

He's dying hundreds of agonizing deaths with stunning acuity in his mind. The sadness and anger build, brick upon brick, mortared with the memories of the lives he's taken into a resolution. _I will never take an innocent life._ _But those who have done evil will suffer by my hand. If I am to be king of death, then I will deal it to those who deserve it. _He rationalizes it further by reminding himself of his human battlefield endeavors. But in his heart he knows that every murder since his change, and every subsequent murder he will commit is something entirely different. Before, taking lives had been to protect, defend and preserve the lives of his kinsmen. Now, he understands it as a compulsion, a necessary act which sustains, essentially _feeds_ him. He has no words to describe the disgust he feels at what he has become. But his revulsion is counterbalanced by the resolve which has been borne of his conscience, a resolution brought about by the searing memory of the broken and bloody body of a young girl he loved.

He's hanging on the edge of restraint as it is, and the added pressure of his new justifications are challenging his thirst. It's at this moment that his destiny is cemented, changed, set on a new and entirely unique course. In the history of the vampire decisions about diet were purely a function of instinct; his makeshift morality is something that has never been seen before. But despite this, despite his decisions and endeavors to make himself better all Aedwaerth can see is endless drops of blood, bright red splashed against his skin's pallor. Shame and guilt are things he had little experience with in his human life, but they are consuming him now. So he hunts.

***

Aedwaerth hasn't been counting the years. Time has little if any significance to him other than marking it between hunting expeditions. The ebb and flow of the centuries is barely noticeable. A large reason for that is the lack of advancement of any kind during these middle ages. Aside from some agricultural advances which don't concern him, the most relevant technological update was semi-liquid soap in the 9th century, followed by bar soap three hundred years later. Human blood may smell appetizing but body odor, and sewage dumped on open ground makes towns and cities nearly unbearable for any length of time.

While nearly a thousand years seems interminable to a human, it's been even worse for Aedwaerth. The monotony builds, like a gradually accreting monument to his inadequacies. His goals are few and simple and over the years he's failed at every one: accidentally killing innocents, yielding to the bloodlust, allowing the Saxon invasion. It's the last one which ignites his ire tonight. Even though it's been nine hundred and some odd years, he's still incensed at the way things unfolded.

Aedwaerth had been vigilant in his attempt to prohibit Saxon entry onto his island. Most of the raiders, war-parties and interloping Saxons to arrive in Pryden met his criteria for early admission into the afterlife. On the whole they were scum, scorned and run out of their own homes for their actions and attitudes; he feels no remorse for their demise at his hands. Wyrtgeorn (known now as Vortigern) was a contemporary of Aedwaerth in his human life: a warlord of modern-day Wales. Aedwaerth knew him as a clever and opportunistic leader, consolidating and expanding his territory in quick turns. And though they were neither allies or enemies in his human life, that changed just a few years after Aedwaerth altered his hunting habits. Wyrtgeorn, an ambitious man, had been taking a beating. So he proceeded to make a deal with some Saxon mercenaries. He gave them land to own and farm in exchange for a promise to surcease all attempts at invading and plundering his territory and fight for him when he needed them. Aedwaerth's voyeuristic proclivities alerted him to the issue, and the underlying lie the Saxons sold. The mercenaries turned on him and due to Wyrtgeorn's indiscretion, they were far too numerous and established for Aedwaerth to eliminate. If Wyrtgeorn hadn't been killed in one of the initial skirmishes, he reckons he would have done it himself.

The whole unfortunate affair taught Aedwaerth a valuable lesson. In that moment, watching stealthily while the Saxons routed their unsuspecting hosts, all he can feel is hopelessness, isolation and very real separation from the human world. He is alone and apart, bereft of all companionship and inclusion, and now he knows it. He can neither be a part of fleeting human problems, nor their solution. He is other. But even as another remnant of his human sensibilities are revoked and his impotence is uncovered, his innate curiosity is piqued. _What was Wyrtgeorn thinking, letting those damn Saxons in his home? Why? _His questions are endless, expansive and penetrating, a piece of his humanity that cannot be taken. That is when he realizes that though he will never be a part of humanity again, he can remain a member by proxy: after all, knowledge is power. So began his study of the people and world around him.

It's the year 1403 and Aedwaerth has made his way into London-town where there's no lack of criminals for him to choose from. He has grown to like cities, despite their stench, from a distance. He finds comfort in improving the lives of the good people who live there, and in the tumult of thoughts thats lifts, expands, and writhes like a million serpents through his mind. It's difficult for him to process the unbidden voices, but he's grown adept over the years at tuning in and out, sifting through, and blocking thoughts. He's well fed, so he's just killing time (an expression he coined himself) and listening to the frantic, benign, and myriad minds of the 100,000-plus person city.

When he starts hearing the word vampire peddled cavalierly by a mob, he pays special attention, moves closer in the stillness of night to lay eyes on them. Moments later, he's looking at the group from the roof of a nearby church, the very church that has spawned this patchwork group of lower-class Londoners. He's familiar with the establishment from its roots with the Avignon Papacy, and later John Wycliffe, to its vitriolic minister. From what he can gather from the thoughts of the mob, they are on a glorified snipe-hunt to find vampires lurking in the city sewers, and led by the caustic minister's son. When Aedwaerth zeroes in on the man's thoughts, _Carlisle, _he discovers that he is quite different than what he was expecting.

Carlisle is a man burdened by his father's expectations, at once calm and emotive, and a genuinely compassionate person. Aedwaerth is intrigued by Carlisle, and amused to learn through his thoughts that despite being _very good_ at vampire hunting, he finds the practice farcical at best and "actively wrong" at worst. Carlisle's struggle to please his father, yet remain true to his own beliefs is not new to Aedwaerth, but the clarity and emotional sympathy that his mind exudes is refreshing. When Carlisle addresses the group, communicating the plan for the evening, Aedwaerth is caught off guard. They've divined the location of a relatively senile and sickly vampire named Gilbert. Aedwaerth has had occasion to meet this vampire, but has passed on the opportunity due to his jumbled and chaotic thoughts; Gilbert is so crazy he can barely remember to feed himself. He's living in the ruins of a Roman aqueduct which has been built over several times, and they're going after him.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took a while to update. I had some thematic difficulties with this chapter. The next chapter is when our lucky couple meets. And I've already written some of it, so it shouldn't be too long before I get that one out to you. Thanks for reading. Review if it suits you.


	8. Spark Ignition

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Carlisle will always be Edward's closest friend, but over the last century since her inclusion in his family Alice has become his confidant. Initially, it was the similarities between them that sparked their close friendship, but he'd be lying if he said it had nothing to do with her divination skills. Knowing the future and reading minds was simply too much temptation for Edward: feeds his god complex, which all men have. He and Alice grew close as a result of her exuberant disposition, their shared obstinacy and the ability to communicate flawlessly and completely without words.

The rest of the family marveled at their silent exchanges. Eventually Edward explained to Carlisle in detail the process and protocol which governed their mind-meld.

"Her visions are immersive. Alice is completely sense deprived, but the vision is like real life to her, only processed at vampire awareness; a few minutes of vision correlates to a few hours of experience. Sight is slightly dimmed, but she can feel the wind against her skin, smell everything around her, hear background noises, etc. So when she's having a vision of us conversing, and I'm reading her mind, I can adjust my decisions at the speed of her visions, her brain. I'm communicating with her without hearing, so it's happening fast. We can have several hours of conversation in a few minutes; very good for strategizing. It's... convenient and somewhat intimate. I know Alice better than I know myself, and vice-versa."

So the past few weeks of Alice withholding her visions and conversation has been strange, frustrating and generally annoying and his mood has been darkening despite her assurances that everything is fine. Pronouncing his displeasure seems to do no good and melodramatic decisions are met with Alice's giggles and the double wave break of calm and content from Jasper.

That was another new development that was feeding Edward's disillusionment. Jasper had never used his abilities on him, had been prohibited from doing so except at Edward's behest until earlier in the summer when a disturbing trend developed in Jasper's thoughts. Edward dealt with it in direct fashion.

"Jasper, I know you wish to speak to me about this. Do not mince words."

The relief that leaked from Jasper soothed both of them past the point of awkwardness. "Edward your loneliness is gettin' painful. And the apathy is getting to be an issue, too. You know I can fix it." What goes unspoken is acknowledgement of the bond between them, Alice included; it binds them inextricably. With a deep sigh, Edward relents.

"I'd rather not be medicated...but it's fine. I know you're suffering because of me. Do what you must." A sly grin adorns his unlined face. "Apropos of absolute necessity, of course."

"Tar water's all ya really need, anyway. Serves two purposes. One: loosen you up- maybe you'd even come home with a woman. Two: forget all the shit that we've done."

Edward's remembering drinking some Saxon wine he and his war-party "acquired" with fondness, and he's genuinely forlorn that he'll never be able to get "wallpapered"(as Jasper nostalgically refers to it) again when the civil war Major pipes up, grinning. "She's out there ya know. And she doesn't stand a chance, brother. What is it they say? 'Putty in your capable hands.' You'll find yours."

Edward wonders if he ever will. It seems the perfect storm has coalesced to keep him alone for eternity. As a human he was picky, had women of every tribe, direction, color, and class throwing themselves at him on a near daily basis. And aside from a physical release, he was never interested in any of them after the girl was murdered when he was fifteen. He's considered that he might have been too busy for a permanent lover, wife or family what with murdering invaders and being king, but he knows it was more than something that simple.

In all those intervening years before he met Carlisle, he did a lot of contemplating. His conclusions, varying from precise to faulty, always left a bitter taste in his mouth: like loneliness. His first attempt at explaining his lack of desire for a female companion played out like a bad teen angst drama. He reckoned he was faulty, lacked some integral part that left him loveless. He discarded that theory out of sheer stubbornness and annoyance. His second idea, coming a few hundred years later, was closer to the mark; he posited that the same part of his nature that led to the mind reading, a cynical, voyeuristic creep, was simply too analytical and critical of the fairer sex.

The correct conclusion didn't come until Carlisle joined him some centuries later. It was a flippant remark Edward made on July 8, 1647, something along the lines of "well maybe I'd like them a little more if I didn't have to listen to them underestimate me in their minds," that flipped the proverbial light bulb on above Carlisle and Edward's heads. After some deliberation and debate on the details, they'd come to a tentative theory that Edward would never be able to fall in love with someone whose thoughts he could hear.

Edward can see the detached, dreamy look on Carlisle's face as he spoke his final words on the subject, "There's mystery to falling in love, but it's not completely indecipherable. It's the mutual discovery of two hearts that mirror one another. I'll never truly understand it, and neither will you- despite your mind reading abilities. But I know that it can't be one sided. There has to be symmetry, balance. It's equality that you lack Edward, not some nameless thing. You're not broken, just special. You'll need someone equally special to ignite that spark." He hopes this is true and Carlisle believes it, but he's spent a lot of time looking and found nothing.

It's the predawn hours that find Edward mulling over his missing pieces, melancholy and numb. He almost feels guilty tainting the meadow when he's feeling like this, but he needs its cathartic qualities: the soft wind rustling the boughs and flowers, an occasional star winking it's way through the oppressive clouds, the patter-splash of intermittent rain on his bare chest, and the irreverent cooing of a Northern Pygmy Owl. He's planning on hunting too, as a precaution, since tomorrow will be his first day as the new AP Biology and freshmen science teacher at Forks High School. Cooped up with several hundred tasty teenagers is not the venue to test his control. And though the American Revolution was the last time he truly considered feeding on a human, it pays to be prudent.

After a gluttonous escapade in the Olympic National Forest, Edward is traipsing lackadaisically towards home. His phone rings.

"Where are you? It's 6:45 and you have to shower, and get dressed before school starts. And I've laid your clothes out, so don't try and wear that awful tweed monstrosity."

"What's wrong with my jacket? I've had it since the seventies and gotten plenty of compliments on it."

"If it's age isn't enough, then the godawful elbow patches sure are."

"I'll be home in 4 minutes."

As he's hanging up, entirely annoyed at Alice's interruption, he hears a faint "I know." It's enough to make him take a slightly circuitous route home- arriving in six minutes.

Thirty minutes after that he's sitting next to Alice in the driver's seat of his silver Audi R8 5.2. He's long since resigned himself to being conspicuous and if that's his curse he'll embrace it, maybe divert it, by buying the most badass car he can find and shamelessly flaunting it. Even before Rose put the finishing touches on it, this particular automobile was the most thrilling he's driven since the invention of traction control, aside from the outrageous Bugatti Veyron(even Edward, with 600 years-plus of wealth accumulation couldn't bring himself to fork over a cool million for a car).

"You're ready, Eddie, let's go."

"You know Alice, the red interior makes you look demonic." She ignores him.

"There's a few things I have to do this morning, okay. So let's go." He tries reading her mind, but she's got him locked out with looped Osmond sibling songs. It's almost enough for him to forcibly remove her from the car, and he thinks about it for a split second too long. "Just drive, Edward. From now on I'll take my own car you jerk."

He wants to call her names, too. Be petty for her unnecessary and disheartening silence, but he loves her too much. And because she knows him like she does, she smiles a heartrending smile at him, and reaches across the center console for a quick hug. The contact comforts both of them, and it occurs to Edward, as it often does, that he doesn't get touched very often. So he wishes... and puts the car in first and drops the clutch.

After making an appearance in the front office to pick up his student roster, and say a quick hello to the principal, Edward drops by the teacher's lounge to "get a cup of coffee." It's the little things that lend credibility to his family's lies. He introduces himself to a few teachers he hasn't met, and is not startled to find that the women are attracted, albeit intimidated by him, and the men hate him with unbridled passion. It's no small wonder considering he's dressed in a custom made pinstripe suit, drove up in a $150,000 car and, according to their story for the next few years, has a Ph.D. in Biology at the tender age of twenty-one: Jenks, their lawyer/scratcher is a miracle worker, but throw enough money at any problem and it will disappear.

While Edward is friendly to his coworkers he has no plans to cultivate any sort of relationship with any of them. It's not something people question with a family as large as theirs; people tend to make the natural assumption that they spend all their time together, which they do. However in a town like Forks, small and invasive, extra measures must be taken sometimes. In this situation, they isolate themselves with money and a few well-timed too-wide smiles. There is a convenient satisfaction Edward derives from instilling fear in his nosy neighbors and most of the time it requires only a few dark expressions and invasions of personal space.

After extricating himself from his colleague's lamprey-like conversation, he makes his way to his classroom. When he gets there he can smell Alice all over the room which simultaneously annoys and comforts him. It means she's been meddling, but he's never know her to meddle to his detriment. After a few seconds of investigation he discovers that she's opened a window and put a fan in front of it. The little portable fan is drawing fresh, albeit damp, air in from the outside and pushing it right past his desk, the lectern and into the doorway to the hall. Edward can't quite reckon why she'd have done this, but he knows better than to second guess, or bet against Alice; she's not infallible, but going against her precognitive whims usually leads to embarrassment at the very least.

The school, embracing the new education techniques, has changed to block scheduling for the 2009 year so Edward has only three classes to teach with an open third period when all the students and teachers are rotating through lunch. Which is convenient for him since he doesn't eat and flat out refuses to force lunchroom gruel down his gullet. His first two periods are freshman sciences and his final period of the day is AP Bio. It's bound to be painful, teaching such an silly overview of the sciences to an awkward group of youths but he hopes he can inspire at least a few of the impressionable teens to love learning the way he does. He relishes the arrival of the final block, where he hopes he will discover a more serious group of students.

When the first of the children start trickling into the classroom, he's hit with a wave of nerves. It takes him a moment to place the feeling mainly because its been a century since he felt that way, but he appreciates the focus that it brings him. He calls the class to order after the bell rings, and taking careful consideration not to answer anyone's thoughts, begins his first lesson. He uses a technique in each of his first two classes to learn about each of his students. It's a simple exercise that plenty of teachers have used before; he has each student write down interesting facts about themselves, paired with a unique summer experience. Most teachers don't have the added advantage of hearing their students thoughts while their doing it. It's enlightening to say the least: discerning those students with a tendency towards dishonesty will save him a lot of time throughout the semester.

By the time his AP class rolls around in the afternoon, he's in the zone. Quite frankly having as much fun as he can ever remember. The students seem to like him, his teaching style, and as far as he can tell they are genuinely engaged by his lessons. He's been revising lesson plans during his open period with laser-like focus. He's to the point that he barely notices students entering his classroom for the final period of the day. When the bell rings, signaling the start of class he glances up from his papers to find a room full of high school seniors staring intently at him.

After gifting them a lopsided grin, he begins role call. He notes the temperature has risen throughout the day, so he takes his jacket off, loosens his tie and crosses to the front of his desk. Adopting a comfortable human posture, he sits on the edge of his desk with his legs crossed at the ankles and gets to the next to last of the seventeen names on his list.

"Isabella Swan?"

"Here."

Her voice is quiet, smooth, sexy and completely unfamiliar. When he looks at her and finds deep brown orbs locked with his own, he is absolutely leveled. Not only does she look eerily like the only woman he's ever loved, but her thoughts are completely silent to him.

"It's you." For a few seconds it's the only thought in his usually-thought-filled head.

He's wept for her, waited for her, searched for her, saved himself and others for her, murdered for her, changed for her, stayed the same for her. He doesn't know her, but he realizes that everything he's ever done is for this woman-child. He's paralyzed with longing for her in front of all his students, her peers and he realizes he'll have to teach them advanced placement biology for a little over an hour and a half. So without breaking eye contact he retreats out of the classroom. He makes it just outside the closing door before collapses on the ground.

* * *

Real life reared it's ugly head. Plenty more B/E interaction to come. Let me hear ya.


	9. Divine Providence

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

In many ways the last millennium passed quickly for Aedwaerth. Life and change whipped into a frenzy of activity all around him though he remained aloof, almost completely separate. His consciousness has yet to be totally unfurled as bloodlust still dominates most of his decision making. His life is a constant loop of feeding, running, spying.

He has no qualms about peeping in on the lives of the humans he protects. He considers it a transaction, as simple as one service exchanged for another; he eliminates murderers, rapists, vagabonds and villains for the vicarious comfort of partaking in their daily lives. His voyeuristic tendencies leave him among kings and commoners, drunks and priests.

He's become a student of humanity, though he wouldn't call himself that. The thing he delights most in is the traveling bard or minstrel. He'd only experienced good music once as a human. His meagre tribe had little time for it, but a traveling musician made his way into his father's hearth when he was a boy. The memory is dim, but powerful; it made such an impression on Aedwaerth as to remain in his brain through the fires of the change. So sometimes he will follow the traveling musicians of the fair isle for months at a time, protecting them from thievery, until he can regurgitate every word and note in their lexicon by memory.

A modern-day Psychiatrist would say that all this peeping is unhealthy but Freud hasn't been born yet and Aedwaerth cares little for anything that doesn't bring him happiness or fulfillment. One thing he has come to realize is that he is a monstrously selfish creature. He lives only for himself, and cares only about himself. Later he'll come to terms with this and understand it as a coping mechanism or a way to survive 20 lifetimes of loneliness. It's begun to gnaw at him. The dissatisfaction and loneliness have crystalized in him and will be the catalyst for the change about to take place in his life.

He'd heard whispers of the Volturi in Tanya's mind during his transformation. And their unilateral death sentence to anyone who violates the imperative made an indelible impression. Aedwaerth has been very circumspect these last thousand years; his diligence a clear representation of his military rigor and discipline. In that respect, the church-mob's vampire hunt couldn't have gone worse. Gilbert got spooked, bit Carlisle, and exposed himself to the group of humans in a completely inappropriate way. Even Aedwaerth, in his relative isolation from other vampires, knows that this is an unforgivable crime. Almost the entire mob witnessed Gilbert run too fast, then leap onto the roof of a dilapidated building, then vanish completely with a huge leap over the wrecked roof.

Aedwaerth has problems on two fronts. Carlisle, who has meanwhile stolen silently into a putrid storage shed full of rotting potatoes, has begun to change into a vampire. Had it been someone else, Aedwaerth would not have hesitated in ending their misery. But Carlisle isn't just anyone; he'd piqued Aedwaerth's interest in a rare and powerful way for a human. From his hide, he can hear Carlisle's silent screams of anguish and despair: he knows what he's becoming. The second issue is Gilbert. He's clearly out of control, and must be dealt with promptly. Knowing he has some time until Carlisle will awaken, he follows the scent trail that Gilbert has left behind.

The better part of a day has passed when Aedwaerth catches the frightened and frazzled vampire about 100 miles north of London. His thoughts are a chaotic mess, a jungle of indecision and instinct that has Aedwaerth massaging his temples. It's only taken him this long due to his less than satisfactory tracking skills, and Gilbert's illogical progression: meandering zig-zags on top of swirly switchbacks. If it wasn't before, it's certainly clear now that Gilbert has gone off the deep end. He's so frightened by a mob of humans that he runs flat-out for nearly 18 hours. As Aedwaerth closes in on him and prepares for battle, he's decided that it will be a merciful act to end this vampires life, so weak of mind and body he's become that he exposes his nature and is bewitched by a mob.

A few more paces and Aedwaerth bears him to the ground, with a hand on each of Gilbert's wrists. When they impact the ground Aedwaerth maneuvers his knees to the center of Gilbert's back and while pinning the vampire to the ground divests him of his arms. The sounds of anguish coming from the poor creature are excruciating, so he quickly removes Gilbert's head from his neck, then proceeds to build a fire. For a moment, Gilbert's mind is silent with shock, but not for long. He hates this part. After a moment Gilbert's consciousness rears its head in the form of unintelligible pain and fear. It's almost debilitating to Aedwaerth, but he makes the fire quickly despite having no flint or starter and tosses the body parts into the flames. Gilbert's internal anguish doesn't die down immediately, but rather fades to silence like a flock of noisy birds chasing the horizon.

Aedwaerth is drained to the point of hunger, but feels a responsibility to check on Carlisle. So he speeds in the direction of London with abandon. Things are always clearer to him at high speeds and his distaste at ending Gilbert is cleansed by his run. He knows he's done the right thing. It's daytime, and the sun is shining so he can't get close to the storage shed that Carlisle is currently hiding in. But he'll be able to approach it in a few hours when sun goes down. Based on Tanya's thoughts during his own transformation, he can be sure that Carlisle has at least two more days left until he awakens, and that it will most likely be at night, three days after he was bitten.

When the sun sinks below the horizon, Aedwaerth steals silently to the shed that has served as Carlisle's shelter. The closer he gets, the more painful Carlisle's thoughts become. The scent of blood and venom, though nearly a day old, hangs in the air like a map. As he hastily removes the potatoes that Carlisle has covered himself with, fearful and frantic thoughts emanate from Carlisle. He fears he will be discovered and killed, despised and disposed of like the vile, evil creature he is. Aedwaerth offers soothing reassurances in English, a guttural mishmash that is harsh to his Caledonian ears, his own language being mellifluous and lilting and altogether pleasant.

Carlisle can only vaguely hear Aedwaerth and he's clueless to his intentions, but he doesn't resist when he's gently removed from the stash of rotting potatoes. His body is consumed by the fires of change and his form is rigid in Aedwaerth's arms. He's wracked by spasms of pain which leave no room for rational thought; Aedwaerth finds the mental murmurings emanating from Carlisle painful at best, intolerable at worst.

But Aedwaerth can't leave the man to fend for himself. He feels some responsibility to care for him, regardless of the inconvenience or discomfort he might endure in doing so. He flees the city under cover of night, quickly making his way past the mud and wattle shantys that house most of London's citizens.

Aedwaerth has little interest in remaining close to the city given that he will be monitoring a newborn vampire crazed with bloodlust, so he ventures north and west towards a Welsh forest he's frequented over the years. It's isolated and quiet, perfect in that Aedwaerth will need a clear mind and Carlisle will need a lack of prevalent human scent. The journey takes a few hours; Carlisle is for all intents and purposes weightless, but he's taking precautions not to jostle him and cause unnecessary pain.

The pair arrive at a secluded cave, and Aedwaerth lays Carlisle down safe from the elements. The next two days pass quickly for Aedwaerth as he's fascinated by the various and miniscule changes he can see occurring in the changing human. Aedwaerth is quite anxious for Carlisle to awake but has no real plans beyond seeing what happens. He knows Carlisle will need to hunt, and from what he can tell from his thoughts, Carlisle will be enthused about Aedwaerth's diet; it seems Carlisle is loathe to kill humans.

When Carlisle's heart slows to a near stop, sputters and goes silent, Aedwaerth places himself at the mouth of the cave, with his back to the outside world. He's assuming that he's faster but it pays to be prudent, and having a newborn vampire roaming the countryside won't do.

At once Carlisle is on his feet and growling, low and involuntary, with his eyes trained solely on Aedwaerth. In an attempt to calm him, Aedwaerth raises his hands in front of him palms out and takes a step back. Carlisle interprets this as an invitation to leave the captive trap of the cave and bolts.

Aedwaerth hears the intention in his mind and utilizes his close quarter combat skills to subdue and immobilize Carlisle. He's pinned to the ground on his left side with Aedwaerth's legs viced around his ankles. Aedwaerth's left arm has Carlisle around the neck, and he's using his weight to keep the wriggling to a minimum. After a few seconds of trying in vain to escape from the hold, Carlisle relents and goes still.

"Cease. I'm here to help and I will not hurt you," Aedwaerth ventures.

"Who are you?" Carlisle has a thousand more questions floating in his mind, but Aedwaerth doesn't want to broach the subject of his telepathy just yet.

"Aedwaerth... for now I am your guide, but I hope to be your friend. I witnessed the mob you led on a hunt, and I saw you bitten. You showed great courage and restraint by crawling into those potatoes."

"It was self-preservation only."

"Good, you'll need that if you want to survive as a vampire."

Carlisle's intake of breath is at once resigned and apprehensive. In his mind, what he has become is so abhorrent that he wants to kill himself. He's diametrically opposed to taking human life. Aedwaerth can see the logic and fervor in his beliefs, can hear the hazy verses of scripture that wind through his mind. It's a crystal clear version of absolute morality that Aedwaerth is unaccustomed to; he's never considered himself in possession of a soul and can't fathom an all-forgiving, all-gracious God. But it appeals to him despite it's incompatibility with his existence. Carlisle's conviction leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he considers his own feeding habits.

"Will you let me up?"

"Do you promise to stay in this cave until I lead you out?"

"Yes."

The evening passes with the two of them sitting cross-legged across the cave from one another, and Carlisle firing questions at Aedwaerth about vampirism and his experiences as a creature of the night. Aedwaerth finally admits his mind reading abilities when he confronts Carlisle about his intentions. But Aedwaerth refuses to help Carlisle end his own life, and Carlisle refuses to end anyone else's. They find themselves passing several days arguing this impasse, with the bloodlust mounting by the moment.

Carlisle is growing more fidgety by the second; he's barely able to control his own motor functions with the burn at his throat bombarding his senses. Whether by divine providence, or sheer random chance a herd of deer meanders by, wafting the musky scent of blood through the mouth of the cave. Aedwaerth, complacent with hunger and familiarity, completely misses Carlisle lunge toward the animals, but he doesn't miss the sight of his newly turned friend biting down on the jugular of a startled doe. After hearing the relief in Carlisle's mind, he hastens to chase down the herd and partake.

The blood is nowhere near as succulent or rich, but Aedwaerth ventures a guess that it will maintain, if not satisfy them. Scanning the area, he sees Carlisle on his knees by several drained animals. He's praying a simple, repetitive prayer that lulls and entrances Aedwaerth.

When he desists, their eyes meet, the pact and bond between them cemented. After a second of silent introspection on both their parts, Carlisle rises and begins to track the remainder of the decimated herd, tossing an errant, "I'm still thirsty," over his shoulder. Neither Aedwaerth or Carlisle can contain the grin that threatens to split their faces.

* * *

A/N: Enjoy. And show me some love...


	10. Physical Reciprocation

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Edward quickly realizes that sitting on the floor of the hallway in a blissful stupor is counterproductive and conspicuous. He's hearing the confused mental chatter of his entire class and they are primarily focused on the implications of his Bella-Swan-stare-down. The more innocent, sweet members of the class are contemplating that she probably just looked familiar to him, like an ex-girlfriend or something. The devious minds, namely Mike Newton among others, are considering a tawdry and illicit affair between the two of them. The images he's conjuring, despite the offensive and personal nature of them, are quite appealing to Edward. Which he immediately feels guilty about when he remembers that the girl is just that: a seventeen-year-old child.

Regardless of the moral or social implications of his attraction to her, he can't banish the memory of her heart-shaped face from his mind. The depth of her dark-chocolate eyes, the uneven fullness of her lips, the light red stain adorning her cheeks and the way her wavy, full, multihued hair frames the delicate perfection of her face is ingrained in his mind. He is filled with irrepressible joy and hope.

As he rises up off the soiled linoleum floor he's struggling to come up with a reasonable explanation of his behavior. He assumes the best approach is a forthright lie, or at most a perversion of the truth. He gives a thought to asking Alice what to do, but decides against it considering recent events. When he pushes the classroom door open, the gossip immediately ceases and it eases his anxiety slightly; he's laughing to himself because he knows what all but one of them are thinking whether they verbalize it to their rumor-monger friends or not.

He attempts to recreate his relaxed and nonchalant position leaning back on the front of his desk but he can't seem to banish the tension in his body. "Sorry about that, class. Uh... Isabella just reminded me of someone I knew once. Caught me slightly off guard. I apologize... Let's get started with the syllabus."

Pressing on seems sensible, but the thoughts of the teenagers around him are offering very little solace. Edward had forgotten the imaginative power of teenage sexual fantasy. Nearly all the boys are imagining he and Bella in coitus, and some of the girls are, too. While he flounders at the front of the room, distractedly searching his briefcase for the syllabus he needs to distribute, it occurs to him that when he was looking at Bella the others thoughts nearly disappeared. And despite the attention it will draw Edward feels trapped and frazzled by the bombardment of sexual fantasies.

He casts a surreptitious glance under the shield of his shaggy coif only to find Bella doing the same thing; her eyes are cut sideways and guarded by the soft waves of her mahogany locks but she's looking right at him with a blush reddening her pale skin. Edward can barely contain the cocky, lopsided grin thats growing in direct proportion to the red on Bella's cheek. He's immensely pleased at the thought that she might not be averse to his advances.

Just as Edward begins to move from the front of the room to pass out the syllabus, his phone signals a text from Alice. It reads: _Get someone else to pass out the syllabus, and try not to smell her._ Edward's confusion is only matched by his aggravation at Alice but he knows not to bet against her. He complies, and assigns a student on the first row the duty. _She better have a damn good reason for all this._ And he focuses on his decision to grab the little sprite by her ankles and spin her over his head until the answers come out. Her second text is purely to annoy him: _Good things come to those who wait, brother._ _And patience is a virtue._ Seeing Alice's smirking face through the mind of her Spanish teacher is helping neither his patience nor his focus.

Once the syllabus is distributed, Edward launches into his semi-prepared spiel on the requirements of the class. Which then flows effortlessly into his first lesson in biology. The momentum he's built by talking and teaching is only part of his successful recovery from the debacle Bella created at the outset of class. The other, and perhaps more pertinent factor, are the constant and pleasurable bouts of eye contact he shares with the dark-haired beauty at the back of the class.

If he had to guess, Edward might be tempted to say that she's as enamored with him as he is with her. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but he thinks _probably not_, when he considers the constant blush she's burdened with, the slight acceleration of her pulse and her reluctance to break their gaze. By the time he dismisses class, a scant few seconds before the bell Edward is giddy; in his lovey-dovey daze he's forgotten Alice's warning not to smell her. In fact he's looking forward to it and is quite intrigued as to what she might smell like. Most humans have stopped smelling like food to Edward but he can still appreciate the subtle aromatic variances.

Bella is the last one to leave the class, and Edward notes that she moves very deliberately, almost comically slow. He detects a slight hitch in her gait and wonders what injury could have caused a young person to limp, even if only a little. As she approaches him at his place near the door, outside the safety of the flowing air-tunnel Alice created, her blush and heart-rate spike noticeably. The scent of her blood and body reach him just a moment before she does, and it revokes every last bit of restraint, from both man and vampire, that he's cultivated over the last six centuries.

With impure intention, he surges across the gap between them and pulls her into his arms; one snakes around her waist and the other gently cradles her head at the base of her spine, exposing the soft arch of her ambrosial neck which he nuzzles with his lips and nose; the taste of her skin is unforgettable and unprecedented. He pulls her close, gathering her impressible form against every hard line of his body. For a few moments he drowns in Bella's delicious sensations: the supple warmth of her denim covered waist, the delicate silk tendrils of her hair surrounding his hand, the undiluted ecstasy of her form molded to his, her almost imperceptible sounds of pleasure, the fiery caress of her lips on his jawline... _wait, WHAT!_

Her actions awaken his conscience at the pinnacle of the most potent bloodlust Edward has ever felt. He doesn't let go of her yet, but he pulls back to in an attempt to read her facial expression. It's a look he will always remember with pleasure, as Bella's eyes are dilated, her perfect mouth is slightly parted, she's practically panting- short shallow breaths are all she can manage and the flush usually contained on her face has reached down her neck and fanned out to spread over her clavicle and sternum. Edward has to resist the urge to lick along her blush.

At this point, his own thoughts shock him so thoroughly that he releases her and takes several hasty steps back, holding his breath against the onslaught of her blood's scent. He can see the confusion, shock and hurt on her face but knows he can do nothing about for the moment.

"Go, Isabella. Leave please," he chokes out with what remaining oxygen he has. She begins to protest, but he knows he can't tolerate her scent swirling so close around him much longer. So he points toward the door with a gnarled fist. His demeanor must be horrifying to her because he can tell his eyes are devoid of any color but black, his jaw is clenched impossibly tight and he's begun to growl low and uncontrollably.

With an indecipherable look over her shoulder, Bella stumbles through the doorway, which is partially obscured by Alice's dainty form. She closes the door behind the rapidly retreating human with a stern expression. "Get to the window," Alice barks. Edward breaks a pane of glass in his attempt to get fresh air into his lungs.

"Did anyone see what just happened?" His words escape in breathless gasps.

"Just me, E.C." His audible sigh of relief makes Alice giggle.

"What do you find funny about this?"

"Plenty, you silly man. You're worried about whether or not someone saw your little indiscretion when you ought to be worried about how close you just came to killing your first real romantic interest. You should have listened to me."

"I was a little distracted Alice. Maybe I would have been better of with all the information you've been keeping from me." His acerbic tone doesn't discourage Alice.

"No. I saw her dead every time I told you about her. It didn't seem to matter if I decided to tag along with Emmett and Jasper as backup. When you smelled her for the first time, you evaded us all, every time. It was impressive actually: such singular purpose! The only way to keep her alive was to let you meet her in class, and interfere as little as possible. But now that we've gotten that out of the way, I can help you court her!"

The idea is extremely appealing despite the precarious situation between teacher and student, vampire and human, old and young, predator and prey. Edward cranes his neck around from outside the window, and flashes her a brilliant grin. "I think she likes me, Alice."

The sound of their relieved laughter floods the room almost as quickly as Edward's unbridled joy. His mind drifts to the object of his affection, and he worries about their abrupt separation. He's relatively sure he hasn't done irreparable damage towards a future relationship but he feels anxious to alleviate her fears and answer her questions. With Edward in tow, Alice makes her way toward the faculty parking lot. She's practically dragging the distracted love-struck vampire but every time she turns to scold him she's infected by his dopey facial expression and all they can do is laugh.

Juxtaposed by his joy is the turbulent confusion that Bella is experiencing. Edward would be horrified if he knew that at this moment she is silently sobbing in the cab of her antique Chevy, incensed and flustered at the recent turn of events. And if Jasper were in proximity he'd have emotional whiplash. But she's surprisingly comfortable breaking the rules if it will bring her Edward. When she comes to terms with what she thinks and feels later in the evening she'll decide that Edward needs to know that she is _not _that other girl; he owes her an explanation. And maybe, _if_ he's lucky, there will be some physical reciprocation...

* * *

A/N: This couldn't be contained. Took me less than an hour to crank this chap out; I suppose B and E were anxious to interact. I've heard it said that the blush thing is overdone and/or unrealistic, but I dated a girl in high school who blushed just like that. Anytime we... ahem... were close she would flush from the roots of her hair to her stomach. It made making out when her parents were around very dangerous. Unfortunately I found out her dad got red like that, too, but for vastly different reasons. I learned then that love overcomes all things... except angry, protective fathers.


	11. Conscience and Carpentry

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

It's not just their diet that changes. Subsisting on animal blood is the impetus for a realignment in perspective and focus, a paradigm shift that Aedwaerth did not expect. He feels more _human_. And despite Carlisle's capacity for empathy, he'll never fully grasp the panoptic obsession for human blood that marked Aedwaerth for over nine hundred years. He sees the debilitating effect his eating habits had on him: it stunted his mind, diminished his capacity for emotion, crippled his conscience.

While the change in their behavior is initiated by resisting human blood, it is perpetuated and evolved by a weather phenomenon. The "Little Ice Age" and Carlisle's rebirth coincide neatly. It's been about one-hundred-fifty years since Aedwaerth smelled the change in the air, catalogued the downward trend of air temperatures. The snow arrives earlier and stays later, the oppressive grey Cumulus content to hover. The crystalline cold encroaches year by year.

Eleven years after Carlisle is changed they come to a decision. The near constant cloud cover gives them ample opportunity to commingle with humans, so they decide to establish a residence in the largest town in Wales. They've both spent the last near-decade tamping down their bloodlust, moderating their strength, practicing little human idiosyncrasies, and wrestling in the woods. The preparations near complete, Aedwaerth considers Machynlleth large and distant enough to provide them anonymity.

Carlisle is somewhat amused and positively delighted to find that Aedwaerth has a significant amount of battlefield plunder buried underneath a massive boulder in the geometric center of an untouched forest in northern Scotland. With the ten ton piece of granite moved, they're staring at neatly organized piles of silver and gold plated armor, jewel encrusted sword pommels (many with the sword still attached), several impressive stacks of torcs and various and sundry jewelry. The horded treasures are scattered on the floor of the pit, a fortune fit for a thousand-year king.

"Whenever I came across something that I thought was valuable or interesting I brought it here. I guess I didn't realize how much I'd accumulated." He gets quiet. "It's been awhile since my bloody beginnings, Carlisle. But I can still remember the way those battlefields perfumed the air. The only things left from any of that are these trinkets, and me. Their ash and bone have returned to the earth."

"That's behind you brother. And with these _trinkets_," Carlisle internally goads Aedwaerth's modesty, "we can buy a regular _tower_!"

"Remember we've got to maintain distant relations with the townsfolk, and keep their minds off of us." Carlisle pauses, his quick wit rolling through several retorts in the span of a second.

"Ha! If we're attempting that then we had better shift up your name." Aedwaerth is used to the facetious manifestation of his friend's newborn nature, but he's taken aback by the accuracy of the statement. His unusual and foreign name would provoke undue attention.

"What do you recommend, english?"

With a false salute, he beleaguers, "The Anglicized type would be Edward. That's common enough. Three English monarchs in the last century with that moniker. Though I'm not sure you'd like to share your title with Edward the Longshanks." Carlisle knows Aedwaerth's opinion on the Anglo-Saxon king who warred with his Scottish descendants led by William Wallace: it's appropriately low.

Aedwaerth growls in baritone, "I'm taller than that clown of a king, you thorn. But the name will suffice. The sound is similar."

On their journey to Machynlleth, laden with treasure, Carlisle comes to the realization that he will be unable to communicate with the Welsh as he knows only a few stilted phrases of Cymraeg. But Edward is fluent, and flaunts his knowledge of the Welsh words for the frustrated preacher's son. When he finally deems to enlighten Carlisle, it's with a grin and a nudge on the earnest's mans stone shoulder. "What I've yet to mention to you is that the sounds are similar to my own language, so my accent should be near nothing. Truth friend: between your quick thinking and long ears, you'll have the tongue for it in no time. Of course I'll help. I learn languages quickly because I hear it twice."

The truth of Edward's mind is that he has a knack for languages; his brain catalogues dialect and vernacular, and he grasps phonology, morphology and syntax at an instinctive level. His mind reading only facilitates the rapid acquisition of foreign tongues. As a result, he can speak to anyone on the entire island with no difficulty. Most of Europe's languages have settled into his subconscious from his observations of travelers, merchants and money changers. If there's one constant that he's found, it's that money men are the best liars because they typically know multiple languages; learning to mislead in many mouths makes them proficient or dead.

_But the true test of a liar, _Edward thinks, _is whether he can lie to me_. No one can. But Carlisle is developing skills at blocking Edward's penetrating mental skills. And it's pleasant; there is no doubt its been a balm to their friendship. Since their move into Machynlleth, it's especially important because they almost never leave each other's company.

They've chosen carpentry as their profession. Carlisle makes a strong case for the craft with logic and reason, but his thoughts unnerve Edward. Carlisle ponders Edward's redemption from a life of murder and considers Christ's vocation an appropriate one. But he says nothing to Edward, having been rebuffed when he floated faith in conversation.

They can easily procure wood from the nearby forests, and their strength and coordination makes the art of woodworking a relatively simple task. They don't even require tools, though they have them as a cover. As the first few months pass, and they transition into tolerable albeit reclusive townsfolk, word of their finely crafted furniture and sturdy products has spread through the three-thousand strong town and into the local area. It's not an inconvenience to their privacy, but it keeps them busier than what they consider ideal.

Despite Edward's indifference to human politics, their new living arrangement has demanded that strict attention be paid to all of their surroundings. This includes the ill-fated rebellion of Welsh prince Owain Glyndwr. By the time that Edward and Carlisle achieve a limited notoriety for their craftsmanship, the uprising against the English for Welsh rule has groaned to a halt.

Both England and Wales are ragged along their aligning edges; broken and battered people live in tattered and torn towns. Even the Tudor's wealth has been carved and cratered. It was a disaster twelve years in the making, with forty-some years until it relents. Ultimately the intermittent fighting of the Hundred Years War is reignited by a temporary Welsh-French alliance attempting to win Wales her freedom from Britain. What began as a Franco-Welsh army in 1406, ended a few days ago with two conscripted companies of Welsh bowmen decimating the same French soldiers at the Battle of Agincourt. The only whispers left of the whole fiasco are Welsh ones, wondering where their fearless leader has hidden himself.

So Edward is surprised when Owain Glyndwr's daughter Alys shows up at his door one morning requesting a custom made coffer, and discretion. She's brief and barely thinks of anything beyond what she came to tell him because she's so distracted by his presence.

"So what did the woman want exactly? I was trying to get this corner just right..." Carlisle is engrossed in a table he's going to anonymously deposit in an impoverished family's one room farmhouse outside of Machynlleth.

"For us to build a door into the back of a coffer for her father, Owain Glyndwr. It's so he can get to a hidden chamber his sons built into the bottom floor of the house. We've got to build it there." Edward's nonchalance and even vocal tone don't fool Carlisle, whose mouth is wide with excitement. "Care to go meet the prince of Wales, english? Think you can be civil?"

Carlisle's laugh and answering gold wink echo throughout the house, reverberating reminders that Edward is no longer alone. And living so differently than ever before has it's advantages: meeting a toppled rebellion leader, working in his home. It's the kind of variety and engagement that he's been looking for without knowing it. Edward smiles and begins to whistle reveling in the winds of change that continue to blow him in a better direction.

In a matter of a scant few years, he's been refined from an emotionless and truant mass murderer, to a respected carpenter and glad brother. But his flawless memory is never at rest, enabling and augmenting his brilliant mind, reminding him of darker days, or his distant and dim human life. With a nostalgic sigh that he realizes that he'll meet a kindred spirit on the morrow: a king with no kingdom.

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the wait- a bit of writer's block on this one. But I think I'm back in the swing. Enjoy. And thanks to whoever rec'd my story on that website- you're awesome and anyone else who wants to do that kind of thing is awesome, too. I was absolutely blow away by the quality, insightfulness and tenor of the reviews over the last few weeks. While I'm not one for demonstrative displays of electronic affection, I am very grateful to all of you who read this. Thanks.


	12. Grasping Gravity

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The first thing Edward does when he stops subduing the roadway between school and home is hunt. He's well fed, but his urges are demanding another meal. Leaving the R8 and Alice in the driveway in front of their home he sprints with reckless abandon into the forest. His immersion in his instincts is complete; rational thought has left him completely for the exhilarating and comprehensive sensations of running, tracking and hunting. When he breaks the surface of his bloodlust, he finds a brown bear at his feet, pregnant and dead. She's not showing, and won't give birth until after a hibernation period, but he can smell and taste the delicate changes in hormones that portend gestation.

Despite the tenuous hold the forty-some-odd brown bears have on the local ecosystem, he feels only a little remorse. He's already thinking about Isabella: the way her hair felt on his fingertips, her bewildered and beautiful face flushed from his proximity, and the most expressive and distracting eyes he's ever seen.

Edward is excited about sharing this day with his family, though he surmises their thoughts will be irrepressible, patronizing and annoying. But he can't bring himself to return to their home quite yet. One habit he's reluctant, maybe incapable, of breaking is silent, solitary introspection. The practice arose in the years he spent alone and was perpetuated by his mind reading. Edward found it somewhat difficult to develop his own opinions, make his own mind up, when he could hear someone's thoughts on the same subject.

Various places flash through his mind but by the time he's come to a decision, he's found himself standing at the edge of his meadow. It's autumn, so the sun is in free fall behind the horizon. There's a break in the clouds that's painted the underside of the clouds pink, orange and red, and the craggy face of the Olympic mountain range resembles a crown of pure gold.

This traveler has seen sunsets. He's stood on the summit of Everest and watched as the brilliant ball of flaming gas rolled behind and between the ragged fissures of the Baltoro glacier. Bobbed among the kelp fields in the Atlantic as a thunderstorm was illuminated by a fiery light from behind. Sat stone still atop Uluru and stared unblinking as the last slinking sliver slid beyond the rusty desert.

The current view, beautiful but ordinary, is moving him in a way he can understand, but can't contain. Without moving or removing his eyes from the sight before him, Edward begins to quietly cry. It's noiseless and almost indecipherable, but he can feel the prick behind his dry eyes, and the instinct to draw gasping breaths, hug his chest and let loose. It's the first time he can ever remember experiencing the sensations, but he recognizes the accompanying emotion: immense and purifying relief. Relief for finding her, for not ending her. Relief for not being too broken to love at all, relief for a thousand things he's been wrong about. He stands unmoving until the sun has set completely, sighs twice, and turns for home.

On the short journey home he's thinking about their interaction after class, and his plan of action for the future. The former obviously requires some damage control. He'd growled and glared at her with murderous intent, never a good idea when trying to make a good impression. But he'll eventually need to be forthright with her in all things, including his species' specific subtleties, so revealing that part of him bothers him insofar as it was out of context: he didn't really want her to leave.

Then he'd yelled at her to get out. Edward can't quite decide if this is the worst mistake he's ever made, or a brilliant tactical countermove to her kissing his face. Because he's seen the patterns in female reactions to the inconsistencies in male behavior enough to know that it intrigues and attracts most of them. But when he coasts into the living room his lips and brow are torqued with anxiety over his foul treatment of Isabella, and the sordid way in which he dismissed her. Everyone but Carlisle is standing, facing him with a thousand questions.

"Edward. What is wrong with yer face? Emmet's brusque and playful questioning typically would relieve his tension, has a history of doing so, but doesn't. Alice glances at him in disappointment.

"I was just telling them about your mysterious smile. That goofy, flop-sided thing that none of us have seen before. Why don't you know all about this, EC?"

"I guess I was distracted. Anyone seen Carlisle?" Now that he's broken out of his reverie, the thoughts emanating in his direction are annoying him somewhat. He especially doesn't like what Rosalie is attempting to hide. The feeling of annoyance is quickly replaced when Jasper walks into view on the stairs. The emotion Jasper's pushing is a tumult of happiness, joy and excitement, in the exact flavor that Edward was experiencing that afternoon before his hunt.

As it permeates their bodies and brains, the movement flows back into the room. Alice does a gainer over the deep leather couch and into Jasper's waiting arms on the first floor landing. Emmet, always in wool hiking socks on hardwood, slides 25 feet across the Sequoia on one knee. As he spins to a stop, he scoops the blonde queen into his arms and they begin to dance. When Alice and Jasper mimic their soft sway, Esme gestures at the piano saying, "You might get Carlisle to come out of his lab if you'd play. He doesn't know anything, yet."

Edward is powerless against Esme's best Bambi eyes, and he wouldn't mind tickling the ivories. After a few teasing chords, he matches the dancer's rhythm with tinkling arpeggios on top of a five-finger F#. The song he conjures is soulful, and he plays for forty-five minutes with nary a glance beyond the black and whites. He notices when they stop dancing and begin to watch him play, but he can't remove his hands. He's refining and revising, expanding and improvising and _feeling_ his music for the first time in almost 30 years.

Creative and nuanced melodies flow in such a way that when his family retires for the evening, Edward cannot help but visit his basement recording studio. One requirement for the dwelling place of a vampire home is space; A full basement is either bought, or built. During Emmet's newborn years, their houses went two stories down. After finding their current home's basement somewhat unsatisfactory, the family excavated and augmented the basement. Alice shoulders the foundation, using her precognitive abilities to prevent it from crumbling while the rest of the family digs in the dirt. So Carlisle has room for an at-home medical laboratory, there's a fully stocked tool shop (including an 14th century anvil), Esme and Alice share a design studio, and Edward has his music room.

The finest electronic and analog equipment is packed into a control room separated from the session room by a large and soundproof plexiglass wall adhered to a peculiar wall joint by floor-to-ceiling lubricated suction bays. Esme, in her crafty glory, took the design further by cutting a handle into the glass and installing industrial runners under the 2800lb wall. _It is_, they thought, _the world's largest sliding glass door_. It houses a museum of iconic and vintage guitars, played and endorsed by the world's greatest talent. An Amati violin, made in 1561, rests inside it's case next to a full complement of Stradivarius strings: two violins, a viola and cello, procured from Antonio himself. A custom-built upright is across the room from a full drum kit, with every instrument imaginable strewn in cases across the room; cords and microphones sprout from the ceiling and floor. The performance instruments are immaculate, fine tuned by vampire-adept ear. It is a music lover's dream, and a recording technician's ultimate fantasy.

The incredible quality of the studio is matched evenly by the ability of its owner. After tweaking the soundboard and starting a new session, he hits record and enters the performance room. He pounds on the upright, piddling and perfecting the melodies he summoned earlier. By the time Carlisle wanders into the studio just before dawn, Edward is layering tracks with mandolin, cello, trumpets and a '56 danelectro electric through a Vox AC30. Carlisle is stunned by the breadth and imagination in the music that is blaring through the control room's monitors. He's sure it's the best music Edward has ever produced, which is considerable given his prolific tendencies and profound talent.

Edward beckons Carlisle through the plexiglass and into the relative isolation of the soundproof recording room. Carlisle is familiar with his friend's reticence; he's a solitary man whose mind is full of lofty ideals and tiring experience. Sometimes he takes a while to speak so Carlisle opens his mind to Edward fully, allowing his inquisitive clinician's mind to mull over the possibilities. He'd been unsuccessful divulging anything from his mate, despite his persuasive techniques, and as a result his ideas have begun to grow desperate. When Carlisle's eyes alight on his friend's form. He sees the small smile and the quirked eyebrows, as if Edward is remembering something very pleasurable. And he's swaying to the light, syncopated music he's making. And Carlisle differentiates the rigid and military way he usually moves from his current posture. To Carlisle, it looks as if the weight of the world has been removed from shoulders, and in that moment he knows. "You found her?" When Edward's grin grows he exclaims, "You found her!"

Edward can see that Carlisle is immensely happy for him, but he's equally curious about the girl, the situation, the future. "You old gossip." He sighs, "It's a ripe tell, Carlisle. I'm sure you want to hear how she's human, seventeen and my student."

Carlisle can't help but interrupt and snicker at the situation. "You never were one for easy."

"I suppose not. But this is just excessive. On top of all that, she's almost certainly my singer. Remember the Italians mentioning that phenomenon? I almost ate her; I had my mouth on her neck and the child fucking _kissed _me! I can't decide if she's perfect or certifiably insane."

"But you can't hear her thoughts, correct?" Carlisle is simultaneously entranced and amused at this Edward who is frantic, eager and angry in such quick turns. He can tell that Edward's encounter with the girl turned him inside out, animated and energized him.

"Nothing. It's just like you predicted, actually. It's odd that..." Edward comes up short when he hears Carlisle wonders silently whether this is what Aedwaerth had been like as a human: so full of life, vim and vigor.

After regarding Edward's confused and thoughtful countenance, Carlisle completes his thought saying, "She's a final piece of your humanity, Caledonian. The largest and most conspicuously absent one, at that. She's both the link to your past, and the purpose for your future. And isn't it about time you settled down?"

"Bah! And relinquish my title of world's oldest bachelor... eh." Edward rocks his hand side to side, and smiles wide to illuminate the joke. In truth, Edward would invoke his tribe's marriage ritual, and ask Isabella tomorrow if he thought she'd be receptive to his offer.

"So tell me what happened." As Edward weaves the tale of yesterday's fourth period foul-up, the house is scuffling with the sounds of the coven preparing for their daily appointments and schedules. By the time he finishes with a detailed account, it's well past time to prepare for class and work. With the assertion that they will talk the following evening, they swiftly part ways.

Brandishing his Savile Row inspired, Alice tailored, charcoal-gray-three-piece and white-knuckling his briefcase, Edward makes his way to the separately housed garage. Once inside, his eyes wander to the family's "special occasion" car, a 2010 Aston Martin V12 Vanquish. Edward has no trouble or qualms imagining Isabella's fragile form in the passenger seat, with their hands intertwined. It's something he's been doing for the last twelve hours, placing her in his plans, entrenching her in his future.

Alice wanders into the garage and Edward's attention is diverted from his daydream. He's already aware that Alice is blocking him with ABBA's greatest hits. When he inquires about it, she replies with a cryptic but satisfactory, "Trust yourself." The car ride to the high school is quiet with Alice's concentrated mental block, and Edward's silent introspection.

The spaces between the morning and Edward's AP biology class are some of the most inconsequential moments of Edward's long life. His lessons left a little to be desired, and his company was atrocious. But Edward can hardly stop thinking about seeing, hearing, touching Isabella. He's amused and delighted at how drastically she's shifted his focus, how devastating her presence has been to his delicately developed facade. This freeform romance has barely begun but Edward has reached it's event horizon; he can't escape her and he doesn't want to. He's been following her in other's thoughts and with his enhanced senses the entire day; his breathing speeds and his mind evaporates when he realizes that she's walking down the hall toward his classroom. As Isabella and her delectable scent breeze into the room during his free third period, Edward lets himself fall fully.

He has no control over his lips as they crook into a powerfully charming, equally disarming smile. It's apparent that they have an intoxicating effect on the other because Bella looks dazed, distracted and utterly adorable. When Edward can remove his eyes from her face, he notices that she's carrying a folded piece of computer paper. And if he'd not been driven to distraction himself, Edward would have realized she meant to leave him a note with no interaction. As he reaches for the halved sheet, she speaks, "Mr. Cullen, we..."

Edward interrupts, "It's Edward, Isabella. At least for now." To Aedwaerth, the nomenclature his family has adopted has little meaning to him besides it's assistance in maintaining their anonymity. Carlisle uses both names interchangeably, but he's the only member of the family that does so, for different reasons. It would bring him great pleasure to hear Bella say his real name, but there's time and distance for each of them to cross before she can know his whole history.

She looks confused and quizzical, and then completely ignores him. "Mr. Cullen, please call me Bella. And we need to talk about yesterday." As she speaks her voice drops into a whisper and she takes two steps towards his desk, where Edward is leaning back in his chair safely within the balmy breeze being brought in by Alice's strategically placed fan. After a deep cleansing breath, Isabella whispers with force, "Please tell me why... and what happened? I don't understand any of this." She accuses, "You kicked me out! Is it just because I remind you of her?" Her anger builds sentence by sentence, bricks used to thwart the lovely threat that she knows Edward poses to her.

He'd never thought of her silent mind as a problem until that moment and he realizes that he's not nearly as young as he looks, nor so old as he feels. Stunned and stumbling, Edward says the first thing that comes to mind, "That girl, whom you resemble _slightly_, is dead."

Bella is immediately contrite, all traces of her anger flicker and fade. "I'm sorry."

Manipulation is second nature to Edward, he uses his not-inconsiderable skill set to maintain the upper hand in all things. But this is the first time he feels even remotely guilty for the tactic. The look on her face at his statement causes him painful remorse and he's quick to reassure her, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Isabella. I assure you that none of my actions toward you had anything to do with her. It was a convenience used to confound your classmates of the truth."

"Which is...?"

"My first glimpse of you left me catatonic." After a instantaneous blush, Isabella struggles to stop smiling and to look Edward in the eye. "Bella, do you think you and Alice could become acquainted? It might facilitate the two of us furthering this conversation since the students are making their way here from your lunch period right now. Act natural, breathe girl... okay. You're okay?" An insubstantial affirmative nod is the only sign that she's even alive, so still and pale. "I'm going to give you a syllabus and answer a question you didn't ask. I hope we speak soon, '_m cara_." The Welsh sentiment pops out of its own volition, or Edward's irrepressible joy at having her four feet away.

He prattles on and the other students begin the enter the classroom. Tossing the syllabus, a subtle wink and a curt, "Try not to lose this one, miss Swan," Edward realizes that his ploy has worked. Only the nosy and nefarious even notice the two of them interacting and then only as an excuse to picture one or the two of them in a soft-core session. With a glance at his girl to clear his head, he begins the lecture.

Edward's perception of time accelerates around Bella; she captivates his senses, enraptures his mind and bewitches his body. He's only begun to grasp her gravity. Before he can cover half the expected material the final bell rings, Bella bolts from her seat and doesn't spare him a glance as she jogs smoothly through the classroom door. As Edward prepares his desk and himself return home, he hears Alice direct a thought towards him: _Edward, I'm going to ask her to visit this afternoon. She says yes._

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A/N: If you're reading this, you rock so hard.


	13. Gentle Barbs

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

An hour has passed since Bella and Alice rumbled off in a rusty antique truck headed for the Cullen home by way of Bella's house. For those sixty minutes, Edward has been sitting in Bella's seat at the back of the class trying not to destroy the desk his palms are pressed flat against. The scent of her blood is maddening, stuck to every surface around him. In his mind he can trace the motion of her body during class using just his nose as a guide. He can feel her warmth from the chair heating him so slightly, and he's running his hand over the displacement of warmth on the desk from her arms, elbows. He puts his head down and endeavors to breathe in and out calmly.

The growling started only 5 minutes in, too low a frequency for humans to hear. When it reached a crescendo after about 40 minutes, Edward was surprised there weren't humans crawling all around his classroom demanding to know where the lion is hidden.

Then a mysterious thing happened; his thoughts came into focus, the venom stopped flowing so freely and he could relax his body's cramped and rigid posture. The urge to track and kill fades like a barely-there recollection. Holding a lungful of Bella-filled air, he makes his way home using speeds even he considers unsafe. As the R8 growls into the driveway outside the front door, Edward stops, thereby blocking the rust-red jalopy from leaving without his assistance.

Esme and Alice are making small talk with Bella in the living room, and it seems like they're all waiting for him to arrive. The guarantee of privacy can only be achieved one place in their home; he's already planning to steal Bella away to his music room. As he paws the front door open, he asks, "Bella, do you think we could speak alone?" The scent of her blood surrounds him like a shroud, inciting and enticing him.

"Hello to you, too, Edward." Alice is rolling her eyes.

When Bella hesitates, stutters and looks pointedly at Esme, Edward quickly comes to her rescue, "There are no secrets in this house. Esme already knows what transpired between us yesterday, as well as the rest of my family. Trust me when I say that my family is the least of your worries. We understand the need for privacy and discretion perfectly."

His devilish smile is offered in tandem with his hand. Bella doesn't take it, or respond in any way other than to stand and wait for him to lead the way. Her determined and dark facial expression is causing Edward's nerves to reappear. That they walk down the stairs in silence only serves to accentuate his unease, and his apprehension all but eliminates his bloodlust. Before he moves the sliding door out of their way, Alice shoots him several pieces of advice: _Take it slow, Romeo. She's scared and more than a little embarrassed. Let her get to know you._

Bella is watching him intently as he opens the plexiglass with a smooth, measured pull of his arm. He gestures for her to enter the session room, then follows her in pulling the door shut behind him. "Bella." When she turns to him and he sees the fear and uncertainty in her eyes, it completely disarms him. In that moment Edward realizes that he's the cause of her turbulent emotions, and it sickens him; Edward wants to bring her only happiness. For her comfort and piece of mind he'll let her ask the questions, take the lead. He crosses the room and sits on the piano bench with his back to the keys, and silently regards the dark haired girl who's currently wandering the room.

Bella circumnavigates, ghosting her hands over various instruments and musical implements. She looks engrossed in her exploration, but Edward can hear her heart racing, see her chest and back expanding and contracting too quickly. As she examines the evidence of the last 500 years of his hoarding, he catches glimpses of a raw bottom lip caught between teeth and her hand pulling and twisting the fabric of her t-shirt. When she finally speaks Edward's anxiety has reached unprecedented heights; he's been thinking of thousands of scenarios where she tells him she never wants to see him again.

"Who plays all these instruments? Is this room yours?" It's not the question he'd been expecting, but he's glad for the lighter topic.

"I do and yes, this is my recording studio. But every member of the family has played at least one instrument over the years. I've been trying to get Alice to try the tuba for a while now."

Some tension is relieved when Bella lets a small, short laugh out and says, "I'm not sure she could even lift one."

"She's stronger than she looks." The pleading look he's giving her needs no further explanation when he say, "Bella, please."

"What do you want from me, Edward."

Without hesitation, "Anything. Everything. But I'm in no hurry Bella. We've plenty of time."

"Edward! You're my teacher and we can't. We just can't! I'm only seventeen and I have to see you in class almost every day. Oh my God, I can't do this."

He can't help but laugh at her flustered rambling. When she hears his low chuckle, her face flushes, moisture springs into the corner of her eyes and she gives him a look that truly frightens him. "Why are you laughing?"

Sobered by her anger, Edward tries to placate the bipolar beauty before him. "Uh... It's difficult to explain. You're worrying about all the wrongs things in regards to our situation, though."

Still royally pissed, Bella approaches Edward with accusations, "So what should I be worried about, huh? Should I be worried that you grabbed me and kissed my neck? Or that when you kicked me out, only moments later, you looked like you were going to kill me!? What the hell is going on, Edward? Is this a game or something? I just don't understand." By the end of her rant she's crying and looking down at her shoes, defeated. She's made no move to leave though she couldn't get the door open without him, anyway.

When Edward sees her tears he's on his knees and at her feet at vampire speed. She gasps when he delicately cups her face to wipe away her tears and shushes her. "Fear not, _'m cara._ I will never play games with you nor hurt you. And I only sent you away to keep us from being discovered in such a compromising position. I promise I have only your best interest in mind. Can you trust me?" She looks so lost, innocent, pure that Edward feels like a demon adopting a puppy.

"That's what Alice said, too."

As Edward moves his hands down her shoulders and arms to grasp each of her hands in his own, Bella shivers. Edward is fairly certain that she's not cold. "Did you have fun with her before? She really wants to be friends."

The tears dry up, "Yeah, she's fun... uh... very high energy." Sharing a laugh relaxes both of them. "Esme is so sweet, too. You and Alice both mentioned that everyone is 'family,' but how are you all related?"

The story they're telling this time is somewhat suspect, and it annoys him to no end. Their living arrangements could pose zoning regulation problems if the wrong people asked the right questions. Furthermore, he takes issue with lying to Bella. "It's complicated."

"I think I can keep up."

Edward laughs, "I have no doubt you can, but let us make my family a story for another time."

"What makes you think there'll be another time?"

For a long moment Edward just stares at her, attempting vainly to try and read her mind. When that fails, he attempts to read her facial expression and body language. What he gleans over the next fifteen seconds is disconcerting and distressing. She's scared and ashamed. If nothing else those are the signs he reads in her posture and countenance, but as he rehashes their conversation he realizes that these emotions in tandem could have caused the majority of her behavior.

Regardless, he's worried that all the years of hearing almost all women want him may have left him overconfident. "I want the two of us to get to know one another, Bella," as the words come out he finds that it's the truth. He would like nothing better to know her completely and solve the mystery of her silent mind. That, and maybe a real kiss.

"Why me?" Bella speaks so softly that Edward wonders whether she meant for him to hear it. But regardless of her intentions, Edward can't let that statement just roll by.

"You're special to me, Bella, but it's not something I can fully explain right now. Beside that, you're easily the most beautiful woman I've seen in well over a thousand years." Edward can't help but smirk at the truth of his statement.

After she scoffs, clearly refusing to accept or believe his compliments, she retorts, "Why would you say that? You don't even know me. And I know I'm just a poor man's substitute for some gorgeous ex-girlfriend. You said it yourself."

Edward is not accustomed to stubbornness at this intensity so his patience is being tried in ways he's entirely unfamiliar with. He drops his hands from Bella's weak grasp to cross his arms over his chest. There's no doubt in Bella's mind that his facially expression is broadcasting annoyance in 1080p.

"Would you like me to address your last statement? Or didn't I already cover that?" Bella rolls her eyes and turns sideways on her stool, shielding her face with the soft, strawberry strands of her hair. "Bella, I may not know you well, but I do know some things about you. I know you're very brave for coming here, for approaching me in class today. Given both of our discussions you obviously have a functioning moral compass. And I saw your transcript, so I know you're smart. Let's recap: courage, integrity, intelligence, and beauty. That would be enough for a better man than me. Bella?"

"Don't you think this is wrong? A little, maybe? Am I the only one who has any reservations about this?"

"Would you like me to quit my job?" He's completely serious.

"What? No! You can't do that! And anyways I'm only seventeen. We're probably breaking laws right now!"

"How old do you think I am, Bella."

"Well, early twenties I guess." He pulls out money clip which holds his driver's license and hands her the piece of plastic. When she reads that he's barely three years older than her, at least according to the state of Washington, he expects to see some sign of relief but doesn't. "It doesn't matter. You're still my teacher."

Edward's desperation, reigned in for the entirety of their conversation, finally leaks into his voice. "Bella, please. I do not care about any of that. I only care about you." Ignoring Alice's advice is usually disastrous, but Edward simply can't help but declare himself to the sweet and distraught girl in front of him. "Someday, I'll be dead." _Maybe, _he thinks. "And I know that if I didn't try to make you mine, I'd regret it for eternity. You may not see it yourself, but you are everything I want, and more. Even if I were a patient man, I couldn't wait for this. All I'm asking is for a chance to get to know you and let this run it's natural course."

"There's nothing natural about this, Edward. We can't!" He abruptly stands and begins pacing the room, like a poster-child for predation.

"Goddammit! If you don't want me, then what the fuck are you doing here?" The volume of his voice and the expletive cause Bella to whip her had around to where he's standing, clearly tortured by her obstinate refusal to grant any of his dearest wishes. He has his back to her, his hands seemingly working on removing his hair.

He's thinking that while Bella is his only hope for a happy and fulfilling future, she scares him more than anything in his long life. He's also considering that Bella's rejection is his absolution for a thousand years of murder. He flinches, but doesn't move, when he feels a firebrand on his deltoid. Bella's hand finds his and she pulls his stone body around until he's facing her.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, I do, actually." Holding his hand and standing so close, Bella needs two deep breaths to begin the apology properly. "I'm sorry for being so... difficult. And for making you think that I don't want you." Their eyes meet, and despite Bella's face turning bright pink, neither of them look away as she continues, "It's just... you scare me, Edward. This whole situation scares me. I don't know what to do." Edward can tell that she's not frightened by his vampire nature, considering she's willingly touched him twice now. Her fears stem from her insecurity, her belief that she's not enough for him. He has serious plans to disabuse her of that notion.

"I don't have all the answers either and I can't tell you what we're supposed to do. But I'd like it very much if we figured it out together." Edward's smile, to Bella at that moment, was irresistible.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Bella laughs at his childlike enthusiasm. And looses uncontrollable giggles as Edward wraps her in his embrace and spins them both around in tight circles. When he places her squarely back on the floor, Bella snakes her arms around his torso and places her head against his right pectoral. Hugging her back is the closest he's come to rapture.

After what seems like a very short time, she pulls back and asks, "I don't think I can take anymore of that discussion. Will you play for me?" gesturing towards the piano.

"Certainly. Any requests?"

"Do you know any classical?"

With a smirk, "If it's good."

Bella rolls her eyes at his shameless cockiness. "Okay hot shot, what about Chopin, Nocturne, Opus 27, Number 2..."

"...in Db major?" Edward is pleased that she has knowledge of classical music, but not surprised: it's further proof that she was made for him. "I'd be happy to play it for you."

As the music swells and simmers, the last vestiges of Bella's resolve falter and fail. So that by the time Edward has been playing for two minutes, she's seated next to him on the piano bench with her hip and shoulder pressed against him. When the song ends and Edward pulls her into his side they can both feel the gentle barb of their mutual affection and attraction deepening, solidifying, leaving it's indelible mark.

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Based on the reviews from the last few chapters, I made the executive decision to push the chapters a little out of order. I hope it's okay if we postpone the meeting with Owain Glyndwr. Thanks for reading and reviewing, as always. You continue to rock soo hard.


	14. Brenhinoedd y Saeson

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Owain Glyndwr is waiting in his sister's spacious home when Edward and Carlisle arrive the next morning. The air is so crisp and quiet it feel as if God is holding his breath. With a knock at the front door they await entry into the king's chambers. Owain isn't what either man had built up in their minds. Perhaps they take for granted their own physical perfection, or are under the impression that all kings are fit to fight. He's fat, slovenly and ancient. He's firmly ensconced in a chair in the front room and remains there even after his daughter greets them and beckons them inside.

Edward can smell the brandy wafting through the room from the cask in Owain's right hand, and the room is hazy with smoke from the pipe in his left. Reconciling his thoughts with his appearance and demeanor are proving difficult. Inside the confines of Owain's mind, he's sizing the two vampires up with uncanny accuracy; it's immediately clear to Edward that this man has a gift for observation.

Owain notices their lethal grace, the similarities between the two unrelated men, their unusual eye color and even places Edward's nearly nonexistent accent as highlander in origin. Edward has encountered a few of these people over the years, humans who see through his facade, notice his inhumanness. In the past, he's simply eaten them, or avoided them studiously, but neither is an option in his present circumstances.

After the men understatedly acknowledge each other, Carlisle and Edward follow Alys to the room where the work will be done. She gives them some basic direction for the project, but Edward and Carlisle are both stumped when she hands them a piece of ragged vellum covered in Cymraeg. "My father wants the coffer built to these specifications. He said his intent should be clear from the instructions." As a general rule, vampires have no awkward moments, but Carlisle and Edward are practically squirming as she leaves the room. Neither of them know how to read, especially not Welsh. It's not a skill that was necessary for Edward as king, given that his life was ruled so singularly by battle; and his people had no real written language aside from a few rudimentary symbols to denote place-names. And Carlisle's father never deigned teach him the written word, opting instead to force feed him Bible verses until Carlisle had them memorized. For the most part, this is not uncommon; the literacy rate in the 1400's is unsurprisingly low. Simply put, it was not something most men needed to know. Edward had viewed the written word as an interesting novelty, but never as a requisite skill. When Gutenberg perfects his printing press later in the century, Edward and Carlisle will have already learned all the European languages.

Holding up his hand to indicate Carlisle should stay put, Edward makes his way back into the front room where Owain sits, smoking and drinking. "We have a problem, Prince."

"You know me? Those days are gone, boy. It's simply Owain, now. Pray tell, what is this problem you speak of."

He holds up the tattered vellum, "We don't read."

"Don't or can't?" Owain's playful mocking is not helping Edward's temper.

"The latter."

"Ah, I see." When he doesn't continue, Edward takes special notice of his thoughts. Owain's mind is awash with pure joy at the memory of reading his father's few books as a adolescent. His favorite, _Brenhinoedd y Saeson, _catalogued the English monarchy from around 700a.d. up until the subjugation of Wales in 1282. That book was the catalyst for Owain's fervent nationalism which, in turn, led to his failed uprising. It still ignites the fire of rebellion within him and Edward realizes the power of the written word, of language molded to fit a purpose.

Before he can think himself out of it, Edward proposes a deal, "Teach us how and we'll work for free." Carlisle's curiosity is catching_, _and Edward can feel the nervous excitement vibrating between the two of them.

"Business is that good, eh? I'll teach you. But I am a little curious as to why you've forgone a good deal of money."

"Perhaps we'd like to spend time learning from a national hero, or a great warrior?"

"HA! That's likely."

After Owain reads the plans aloud to Edward and Carlisle, they collect their tools and raw materials and begin building the unusual piece of furniture. They work out a tentative work schedule, where at the end of every day they work Owain spends an hour imparting his knowledge of the written word.

Owain is impressed and shocked at how quickly they learn to read and write. He would have been skeptical had he not seen, with his own eyes, both Carlisle and Edward master Latin and Welsh in the matter of two weeks. Studies are made simple when they can hear something but once and commit it to memory.

Their intellectual prowess is not the only thing that catches his attention, though. He takes a special interest in their eye color, their powerful and smooth movements, their perfect, stark-white teeth, and their ability to work tirelessly. Owain's eyes are always searching, analyzing; it's a trait that Edward recognizes in himself: the precision of his observations and intuition. Edward has no doubts that Owain would make a powerful and intelligent vampire, but he knows it would be an empty eternity for Owain, whose will crumbled along with the last gasps of his rebellion.

Edward tracks Owain's growing interest in them without fear. Because of his position as a fugitive from the English government, his advanced age and general attitude Edward is sure that he'll not cause problems for the two of them. And Owain would never betray the two vampires he considers friends. Despite the brevity of their acquaintance the three have developed a report, a bantering discourse in multiple languages that thrills and fascinates the two brothers. The environment created within Owain's tiny dungeon-study, one of enlightenment and learning, is something both vampires will vainly attempt to recreate for centuries.

When Owain's knowledge of Latin and Welsh dries up and the coffer covering a hidden door has been completed, he dismisses them. But not before his final lesson, "Boys, this may make little sense to you, but I know arrogance when I see it." His raspy bass voice is grim, a lifetime of hard lessons leveraging his intonation. "In every man's life there is at least one challenge, one enemy that can't be beaten, one hardship you can't overcome. You'd do well to find yours, and avoid it at all costs." His face is expressionless, but Edward can hear the weariness in his thoughts. He rises from his chair, smoking pipe in hand, and hands Edward the book that started his rebellion: _Brenhinoedd y Saeson._

Without another word he hobbles from the foyer, leaving the two confused and concerned. A few weeks later, Owain Glyndwr dies in the dank, dark dungeon that Edward and Carlisle helped build. His sixty seven years are celebrated only by his family and the two vampires he came to know too late in life. And while Edward and Carlisle feel grief for his passing, there's hope, too, that he lives on through them. Over the centuries they both will grasp what their short acquaintance with the man means: Owain instilled in them a lifelong desire to learn, to better themselves, to gain knowledge in order to develop wisdom. This starts them down a path neither could have imagined.

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A/N: Sorry this chapter was so short. Brief but important. Thanks to everyone who's reading or reviewing my story. You folks make me feel all warm and fuzzy.


	15. Sublime Surrender

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"It's after five. I have to go." Bella pulls at Edward's sleeve, but he rarely starts a piece of music without finishing; through force of habit he coaxes the keys, near oblivious to Bella's comment. He plays through Bella standing and carefully traversing the maze of instruments and equipment. But he abruptly stops upon hearing her soft grunt of exertion. When he lays eyes on her, he's already worried about her falling as she struggles with the prodigious sliding glass door.

Edward can't help but laugh at her efforts; she has her feet planted by the handle, which she's grasping with gnarled knuckles, and her arms are fully extended as she leans back against them. Silently sweeping into action, Edward catches Bella just as her fingers slip off the handle and she topples like a domino. He acknowledges the fact that he would do depraved and dark deeds in order to hold this fragile child in his arms, but she doesn't seem pleased at his attentions. "Thanks, now let go," Bella huffs and averts her eyes from his confused countenance. After Edward returns her to an upright position, he realizes the threat of her enigmatic mind. The first true mystery of his life.

He's been daydreaming off and on about her arrival for centuries. In all that time, he'd never considered that he be ravenous for her thoughts- quite the opposite, actually. At this moment, though, he'd give almost anything for a few glimpses. "Please tell me what you are thinking." Edward has no hope of keeping the desperation out of his voice.

"I don't think we should see each other again." He goes absolutely still. "At least until I turn eighteen."

"I could care less about the legal ramifications of pursuing you."

"But I do! If we get caught..."

"We won't," Edward interrupts.

"If we get caught while I'm still seventeen it gets really bad. You could go to jail for two years because you're my teacher!"

Edward is grinning now that he knows that her hesitation is out of fear for him. If he wasn't so amused he would realize how good she's made him feel, how relevant. "Well there's definitely some legal grey area there, exacerbated by the fact that I'm your teacher. But the statute that your referring to doesn't actually apply: 'Communicating with a Minor for Immoral Purposes,' I believe. Relax, Bella." After a prophylactic inhalation, he leans close, letting his breath wash over her neck and face. "Those laws only apply if we're having sex."

Edward braces himself for her blush but doesn't see it immediately; he's taken with the moderate whooshing of her lungs and the heady scent of her blood, accented so sweetly by her strawberry shampoo. And she looks thoroughly out of sorts, almost as if she hasn't heard him. Then her blush blooms slowly, dark and enticing. He sees it blossom, rhythmically surging with the hummingbird thrum of her heart. Feeling the fire scald his skin, he cups her face with a hand while tracing her cheek with his thumb and says with certainty, "I've never seen anything so beautiful." Her reaction, however typical, delights him nonetheless. He's even more pleased when he sees her pinch her own thigh, surreptitiously seeing if she's dreaming. Extricating himself is difficult, but she's been adamant about leaving.

She looks at hims suspiciously when he pulls the door open, and he wonders how many inconsistencies and oddities she's noticed about him. Now that they've had some time together he can hardly stop wondering what she's thinking. And though he'd never expected to experience this kind of curiosity, he finds it refreshing, challenging, wonderfully frustrating. He wants to know her mind, but he wouldn't change a thing about her.

His brain ceases all function when he sees Bella jog up the stairs ahead of him. The hitch in her gait is gone as she smoothly and gracefully ascends and all Edward can do is watch the indistinct flex of muscle under her jeans. He's mesmerized by the movement of her hips and it's her turn to offer a smug smile when she reaches the landing and catches his jaw unhinged, practically against his chest.

Edward is disarmed by this brave and lovely young woman. But despite her brilliance and beauty and his growing adoration, Edward feels afraid. Bella has the power to level him with a word, cut him with a glance, destroy him with a gesture. Anxiety, altogether unfamiliar and unwelcome, sits bomb-like on his chest, weighting his world with new and uncomfortable fears.

He's holding the door to her truck while she fumbles for her keys, awkwardness tangible between them, when they make eye contact. Her eyes are his shoreline after centuries adrift, the only lifeline he'll ever need. "See you tomorrow?" Bella asks hopefully.

"Yes, you will," and it's a promise Edward would destroy the world to keep.

Alice and Esme are waiting patiently inside the Cullen's home to interrogate him. Both are ravenous for information, desperate for news of Edward's human. But he's too distracted to enter into that kind of dialogue with those two, a pair that makes the Spanish Inquisition look mild and meek. He ventures into the woods at a leisurely pace only to detect a direct comment in Alice's thoughts: _You still haven't decided what you want from her. Make up your mind._

He knows she's right, that he's wandered into this situation with little forethought. But as atypical as that is for him, he's discovering that his former thoughts and patterns of behavior mean little around Bella. Her presence in his life has rendered him reckless, left him lacking, stopped him short in the most excellent and frightening way. Her influence is thorough but benign, and he wonders if she could be fey._Surely she must have something of the supernatural within her to bewitch me so, _he thinks.

And there is the other aspect to consider. The rampant desire she incites is something wholly unfamiliar. He appreciates the female form as much as any man, but his interest has always been detached, almost academic. Bella ignites him entirely, and he wants her so poignantly it is almost painful.

He's breezing through the forest with these thoughts in his head, these longings in his heart and body, when he realizes he already knows what he wants from Bella. He'd told her that very afternoon: "Anything. Everything_,"_ he'd said. In regards to Bella, his desires will not be satisfied until they know each other in every way, love each other without reservation.

His mind reels with the implications, the journey already fraught with peril for them both. After a moment of racing thoughts and sheer panic, he gives in. Surrender never felt so sublime. His military mind, suffused with the essence of love and hope, could never lead him astray. _I am already hers_, he thinks, _now I must make her mine_.

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A/N: Another short one, I know, but it seemed complete to me. Hopefully I'll get another update out before then, but I wanted to warn you guys that I will be out of town, sans computer/internet, for some well deserved R&R. Thanks for being awesome. -rhi


	16. Beautiful Doom

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Edward and Carlisle remain in Machynlleth only a few weeks after Owain's death. Despite the minimal risk of exposure and the pleasant life and craft they've established there, they both intuit that it's time to move on. Taking care to protect their few possessions, _ Brenhinoedd y Saeson _among more mundane and forgettable objects, they begin a meandering wilderness journey. With their friendship cemented Edward endeavors to show Carlisle a Britain he'd never fathomed.

Almost a thousand years of experience, however repetitive, will gain anyone insight on a place. So Aedwaerth knows the island like his own mind and he treats his brother to a tour of epic proportions. They explore the husks of abandoned and forgotten castles and forts, strongholds of kingdoms long lost. Edward leads Carlisle through a cave on the coast, carved out and fashioned a home by fisherman of a bygone age. The earth-made abode is inaccessible to humans, and their enhanced vision shows them those that lived there did so at a time when Earth's oceans were at a higher point.

They watch the hustle and bustle of frantic life in a hundred different places, and Edward shares the thoughts of hectic humans and attempts to explain their resilient, fascinating nature. Carlisle hears him murmur, "They're so weak, yet so strong... and so scared." The ancient creature turns and says, "I don't know if there's anything as horribly beautiful as a human life, Carlisle. Every moment they spend breathing or bleeding is sacred, but they're all doomed. And every second spent in this limbo makes it more poignant. They're brilliant _because _of their demise."

He climbs them high into the mountains and Carlisle hears of the highlander, the people that Edward was forced to leave behind. The younger man can tell that Edward has protected himself from the heartbreak of watching his Caledonii flicker and fail, his people diffused in alien tribes. But Carlisle knows when Edward is remembering his old life and the responsibility that he feels by his eyes; Aedwaerth's thousand-mile-stare is as telling as his story.

The highlight of the several year trip, at least for Carlisle, was their trip to the bustling Dunnottar Castle. It's near nightfall and Edward is smacking his lips at a few domesticated cattle milling about the road near the gatehouse. They've hidden themselves a little up the coast from the headland where the castle is perched, a bulwark against the weather and wind that buffets it. "You wouldn't eat somebody's cow, would you, oh swift-footed one."

"If I'd have known you become so obsessed with ridiculous Greek literature, I'd never have stolen those books."

"Come on, highlander, you've got to see the similarities between you and Achilles, at least as a warrior."

Edward grumbles. "I'd have killed that pouty whoreson even as a human." A long period of silence passes.

"So you really did look like you were thinking about eating that cow."

"I was remembering what I wanted to show you, actually. A different kind of meal. It involved a bunch of Christians. And an Auroch." Carlisle immediately wants to know what an Auroch is.

"Resembled a huge bull. Taller than me at the shoulder with massive horns. Hunted into nothingness here by men and wolves. Though I saw a few traveling merchants peddling their horns in London a few years before you were turned."

"Ah. So this story..."

So Edward tells him about the small, resilient group of Christians that eked out a meagre existence on and around the beautiful promontory where the castle now stands. Edward can remember his awe at their utter selflessness, the entwined and cooperative community and the familial love they shared so freely. He'd never felt loneliness so acutely as he did observing them. He reveled in their petty squabbles and the ease with which they forgave and forgot. He'd watched them for years, protecting their home from marauders, murderers and thieves even though they'd had little to steal.

When a hard winter wreaks havoc on their gentle life, Edward felt he had no choice but to intervene. "So I killed an Auroch and dropped it by the tiny chapel door. They made it through that winter only to be slaughtered by some invading Danes the following year. I found a few of them crucified inside the chapel while the rest had been ritualistically butchered on the wooden altar, making a mockery of their faith. I hunted them, every one run down and ended. Even sunk a few Danish ships on their way here..." Edward trails off with his hands clenched, eyes dilated to a flat black. The rage boils within him at the memory until Carlisle places a hand softly on his shoulder. He says nothing aloud, but Edward can hear the righteous fury in Carlisle's mind spawned by myriad experiences with evil.

With eyes that match Edwards in their color and intensity Carlisle says, "I won't kill a man. But where we can, when we can, we must attempt to stop that kind of wickedness, Aedwaerth. We must." Aedwaerth's subtle affirmative is tantamount to an ironclad contract. In truth, he has been resolved in this matter since he was a boy. Injustice sticks in his craw like a live rat: thrashing, gnawing until action is taken. It made him an impressive king and an unusual vampire, but a perfect companion for Carlisle.

"So. You want to see the chapel? They built the foundation of the castle right on top of it without knowing what it was." Carlisle can't resist and Edward rolls back the dials in his mind to a fall day in the year 1311. The ruined Christian chapel, now below ground level, had been transformed into the castle dungeon accessible only by an elaborate iron-locked oubliette. By the time that Edward arrives here with Carlisle, the dungeon has been all but forgotten. They prowl the outskirts of the castle when dark descends, coming closer in concentric circles and careful to avoid any detection. When the witching hour is nigh, the time when humans dream deepest, they sneak into the castle keep and steal swiftly into the chapel below the grate.

They find nothing of value or consequence, leave quickly and never return; the weight of death hovers in the air, lingers in their senses and mutes their minds. But their travels continue, Aedwaerth insistent on imparting what wisdom he can to his young cohort.

Place by place, mile by mile, Carlisle comes to know their home the way that Edward does: both the trivial, mundane minutiae and fantastic drama. As they traverse the island Edward begins to unravel his past in detail for Carlisle, something he'd been unwilling to do, shamed and angry as he was. But the telling is cathartic, exactly what he needs to slay the demons of his past.

Aedwaerth shows his friend these things, elucidating the intricacies of the island's history and his past in a way that is second only to firsthand experience. And Carlisle marvels at the existence they've both been given. And the spark of life within the two companions is prevalent; Edward is happy to have a friend with whom he can share his expansive life and love. Then the first assassin comes uninhibited as if conjured by their piece of mind and soul.

* * *

A/N: Life is a little hectic right now, but I promise I've got big plans for this story. We're just getting started. Thanks for your continued support and comments. Rock on.


	17. Trading Gifts

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Simply put: Edward can't stay away. A significant portion of his brain is demanding that he return home, but he can't help but stand beneath Bella's window and contemplate the sinful pleasure of seeing her asleep. His duplicitous thoughts are not unfamiliar; his mind has been warring with dual responses to this girl since he first saw her. Ultimately, the decisions have already been made. Even if his willpower was strong enough to resist her, which it is not, then he would be loath to give up a chance at the happiness that his family has found with their mates. So he scales the side of the house silently and peers in the window as if all the answers to life's mysteries lie behind that single pane of glass.

He and Carlisle have never found a reason for it, but something about the molecular structure of glass restricts their perfect multi-spectrum vision to a slight degree. This is the way Edward justifies the half-hour ordeal of opening her window. _I must make sure she's alright_, he thinks. The squeaky hinge protests at Edward's invasion, but he redoubles his efforts when he hears garbled words issued from her mouth. He knows that she hasn't awoken due to her unbroken breathing pattern and the peaceful stillness of dreams. The idea of hearing her talk in her sleep is tantalizing in the extreme; he's almost giddy with the possibilities.

When he enters the room, his eyes are drawn to the dark haired beauty sprawled underneath a bedspread. The room is pitch black, rendered in muted grays, blues and purples. In his overlaid infrared vision, Bella is incandescent. Heat and scent ripple and writhe off her slim form, a visual sign of her vitality. It takes every ounce of his willpower to refrain from climbing into the bed. After a few moments, his breathing accelerates to match hers and it seems with each inhalation, his affection for her grows. Coupled with that growth is fear for bringing her into the danger of his world. Selfishly, he will never give her up unless she banishes him.

The rest of the week passes in subdued fashion. Bella and Edward have little interaction on school grounds, and even less outside of school. Edward calls on her in class occasionally, but he's sure to catalogue the exact number and distribute his attention evenly among his students. He's nearly convinced himself to pay her more attention considering her overall intelligence and knowledge of the material, but something warns him against it. Alice recounts her friendly conversations with Bella to Edward, but nothing piques his interest aside from her planned visit on Saturday morning.

He climbs in her window every night, unbeknownst to Bella and his family and assumes that Alice is simply staying mum; he's thankful for her reticence considering he feels no remorse for his voyeuristic escapades and has no intention of stopping. She sleep-talks infrequently, and it is garbled nonsense to even Edward's awesome audition.

Saturday morning marks the passing of three long days. Edward has been miserably terse in his familial interactions and his apprehension has Jasper on edge; as the empath goes, so goes the family. It is with barely bridled anticipation that Edward waits upon Bella to arrive, the Cullen coven prohibited from disturbing. When he hears her car's tires crunch the gravel of the drive, he stretches his senses out. Over the din created by her truck, he can hear several things: the telltale keening of a popular rock group, Bella's fingers tapping out a syncopated rhythm on her steering wheel, and soft harmonic humming. That they share some musical interests is a great relief to Edward; he may be tolerant, but there is some drivel that he would never subject himself to.

When her car pulls up to the house, he's outside and down the porch stairs at a suspiciously quick pace. When he pulls her door open with an exultant grin, Bella can't remember any of her qualms in coming.

"Good morning. It's wonderful to see you." He winks.

"Oh... thanks. You, too. Hi... by the way." Bella's nerves make an appearance momentarily, but she calms them on the short trip to the front door. Edward opens it too and gestures for her to go inside. "Is your family here?"

"No. They won't bother us today. Although, I'm not sure how much longer I can hold them off."

"What do you mean?"

"They're quite anxious to meet you, Bella. I may have been talking to them about you." Edward's feigned sheepishness doesn't fool her for a moment. She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at him, having an inkling that it will only encourage his endearing, devious behavior. The conversation lulls a little then, but Edward remembers his "battle plan," as the family referred to it, in sufficient time to avoid any awkwardness. "So, I didn't really make any definite plans today. I wanted to give you the option to express your preferences first... since I don't really know them, yet. I was wondering what you would do on a Saturday morning if you weren't here?"

"I'd go for a run. I do long runs on Saturday morning, usually."

"You're a runner? I didn't know you did any school sports."

"No, I don't run track or cross country. I just run for fun. I know it sounds weird..." Edward interrupts.

"It doesn't sound weird to me. Not at all. I run for enjoyment, as well. Always have," he adds softly. Looking at her, he's having a hard time remembering to blink.

"I started running on request from my physical therapist and doctor and it snowballed, I guess. After months of agony, one day I went out... and it just felt good, you know? Afterwards I was tired, but I got this perfect endorphin rush. I think I'm addicted."

"What did you have physical therapy for?" Concern has etched deep lines on his brow.

"Oh, sorry. Forks is such a small town that sometimes I forget that everyone doesn't know. I was involved in a car accident at the beginning of last year. Someone sped into the parking lot at the high school, slid on the ice and ran into me. I was such an idiot. I just stood there until it was too late to get out of the way completely. I didn't get crushed, but I broke my leg," she gestures mid-thigh on her right leg, "two ribs," also on her right side, "and I had a concussion."

Edward's worry increases exponentially with each new piece of information she divulges. By the time she finishes her narrative, he has her in his arms and pressed against him. "Are you alright?" he chokes out.

Bella can barely think of a response to his question with his arms pressed so tight around her, but she manages some sort of affirmative before deciding to bury herself. Just as she decides to press for irrevocable intimacy, Edward pulls back from the embrace. With a penetrating gaze, he reaches for her hand where it's grasping the back of a leather couch. Delicately, using both of his own, he pulls, pushes and pries her fingers into position between his. Then he leans on the back of the couch with her and says, "Sorry if I startled you. I care about you very much, Bella. Increasingly so with the time we spend together."

"But how? Why?" She's asking the same questions, but with a genuine sense of curiosity this time.

As if his answering smirk were not enough of an answer, he says, "I will show you, 'm cara. Now, would you like to go for a run?" As soon as he asks the question, Alice mentally assails him with information. It includes the location of weather appropriate running clothes in Bella's size, the cloud forecast for the next several hours and the appropriate line of statements and responses that will lead to Bella's acquiescence. At the very moment, Edward is immensely pleased with Alice, she drops another detail.

Three nights running, Alice and Jasper spent a small portion of their evenings building trails on the Cullen's property. In the end, they built three trails of increasing distance and difficulty that cross and join and fork, cleared of obstruction and hazard and complete with railed footbridges across the Sol-Duc river that winds through their property. In addition to the construction that she's done, Alice gives Edward another gift: visions of Bella running through these trails on multiple occasions. As the visions shift, depicting myriad weather, hair lengths, clothes, and states of exhaustion, there is one constant: the smile on her precious face.

By the time they reach the trailhead a few hundred yards behind the house, Edward knows one thing: Bella Swan is physically attracted to him. He'd had such inklings before, and it was implied given her continued presence around him, but he's grateful for some actual proof. In the short amount of time it took to walk from the backdoor to the treeline, she's not taken her eyes off him. He's looked, albeit surreptitiously, at her almost nonstop too but it appears she hasn't noticed. _If this is her reaction, maybe I'll wear shorts and a tee-shirt every day_, he thinks. Despite her mild form of undress – a form fitting long sleeved shirt and _short _shorts – he's careful where his thoughts and eyes linger considering the flimsy material that covers him.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Don't go too fast for me, okay. I'm pretty slow."

"You'll be setting the pace today. Something tells me that I may have a few steps on you, if for no other reason than I've been running a little longer." Edward can't help the wry smile that lifts his lips. Bella takes a deep breath, averts her eyes and takes off down the double-track trail. The first few minutes of the run Edward spends looking, listening and sensing. He can hear her strong heart pumping at steady but elevated rate, air expanding and deflating powerful lungs, and an occasional grunt of exertion at the crest of a rise. He's entranced by the color in her cheeks, the flex of lithe muscles and the sweat that beads, gathers and runs deliciously down to the ground. And her scent is maddening, driving him to absolute distraction and ruining his intentions to act human and engage her in light banter.

When she catches him staring, he makes a feeble attempt at conversation. "How are you doing?"

She laughs, raises an eyebrow and responds, "I'm sure you know better than I do! Quit staring, creep." Then she's giggling and gasping for breath as she pads down the trail. The ice breaks completely with Edward's answering, disarming laughter. The rest of their time running together is spent in an effortless give and take, where their words are gifts traded between hearts and minds. By the time they loop back to the house, they are floating on the possibilities and eventualities of their budding relationship.

But when they breach the treeline into the backyard, hand-in-hand, Bella unintentionally stirs things up, "Why are your hands always so cold?"

Edward contemplates his answer for a moment, considers lying, and then decides that manipulating her is no different than lying to himself. "I'd be more interested in your theories."

Bella laughs and says, "It wouldn't surprise me if you weren't human, but I guess it's just bad circulation."

"What makes you say that? That it wouldn't surprise you..."

"You're just... you. Ph.D. at 21, perfect looks," cue embarrassed blush, "suave, obviously athletic. You must be an alien robot or something."

Edward's expression has gone from searching to contrite quickly, and he's torn on how truthful he should be with her, but decides that the whole truth may be overwhelming and downright scary for Bella. "I'm glad you think I look perfect, 'm cara, but I am not. I can assure you, though, that I am not an alien robot. Anal probing really isn't my style." And they are both laughing again, Bella's imminent questions momentarily forgotten as he pulls her close.

The sweat and light rain has plastered both of their clothes to them, and Edward's willpower vanished with the appearance of her curves covered in wet cotton. Mimicking the position of their first intimate encounter, he winds one arm around her waist, pulls her off her feet and twines one hand in her hair. He presses her as tightly as he dares against his quivering stone musculature and asks softly, "May I?" Bella doesn't answer. Instead, she grabs two fistfuls of his hair and presses her lips fervently against his own.

They both gasp at the intensity of the feeling. With the scent of the other snaking through their senses, they deepen the kiss, lips between lips: synchronous ecstasy. And he holds her in his arms, kissing the hell out of her, bodies and hands moving insistently, until the sky opens up and pummels them with rain. Without asking permission he throws Bella onto his back and takes off at quick clip towards his house and thinks, _I am finally coming home_.

* * *

A/N: Stratan is my new beta, and you can thank him personally for the error free brilliance. Rock on, good people.


	18. Anger Answers

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The moment Edward catches the intruder's thoughts, his chin jerks in that direction and his body goes rigid, which alerts Carlisle to a threat. Initially, the unknown vampire was simply a curiosity, but as he grows closer, diligently remaining silent and hidden, Edward divines his purpose. Somehow, he's familiar with and tracking Edward's scent while holding a vague mental image of Edward in his mind. Eradicating Edward is his primary concern.

Most men and vampires are not naturally violent. Hunting is an instinctual necessity, but true violence against one's own kind is aberrant. The thought of inflicting harm arrests rational thought, makes hands shake and actions reckless. This is not the case for Edward or the man who is hunting him. Edward's inherent self-preservation and speed makes him lethal; that combination, in tandem with his telepathy, makes him arguably the most dangerous creature in existence. But he can't fight when he's distracted by Carlisle, and he's stupidly refrained from teaching him how to fight, thinking there was no need. So he tosses Carlisle high into the upper branches of a nearby tree, hisses an insistent "stay put," and goes to confront the assassin.

Edward walks towards the offending vampire at a leisurely human pace, and when he gets within hearing range, he starts goading and shouting insults. It's tactical in that it will incite the vampire to attack, but he mainly does it for the entertainment factor; it's a welcome sight to see an enemy flustered and floundering for words. Additionally, instilling anger incurs impaired judgment; it's wise to keep a foe off-kilter.

"What the hell is that awful smell? Must be a skunk on the rag.

"I can hear you, lumbering idiot. You might as well stay hidden with a face like that, though.

"Come out, pussy! Quit skulking like a worthless dog and FIGHT ME!"

Edward is standing on the crest of a small plateau nearly a half mile across, with a firm grip on Carlisle's location and both eyes glued to the aggressor. He's standing a scant 100 yards from Edward, their positions mirroring one another: knees slightly bent, weight balanced on the forefoot – the ideal athletic (or in this case, warrior) stance. He notices several things about the man. He's shorter than Edward by several inches, with the shaven face of a Roman and stringy black hair sliding from a permanently receded hairline. A tunic is his only attire, belted with a smooth strip of brown leather. His skin, face included, is covered with crescent shaped scars that indicate his fighting prowess. His demeanor is relaxed which indicates he has not risen to Edward's baiting insults. He says in calm, measured ancient Etruscan, "I am Nero, and I am here to kill you."

At the moment, the assassin's thoughts are giving nothing away, so Edward goes fishing. "Why are you here? Someone send you, did they?" Nero's thoughts flicker with information, clues to his origin and intent, but his mind has been refined through fighting so that his focus is fierce and restrained, and his only inclinations are murderous, aimed at Edward.

"I came here to kill you. That is all."

"No." Nero's eyebrows raise slightly. "You are here to die." And Edward attacks.

Nero feints forward and left at the last second, but Edward sees it coming and slides on the ground. His hands snap out like lightning and closes around Nero's ankle with crushing force. As he stands, he pulls the fool off his feet and wedges his heel in between Nero's legs. Yanking with brute force supplied by bicep and abdominals, he rips Nero's leg off at the hip. When he looks down, Nero has attached his mouth to Edward's calf like a limpet. It's not the first time he's been bitten in a similar situation, but that doesn't alleviate the sting. Using the dismembered leg, he bludgeons Nero in the head and neck until his jaw, among other things, breaks and his toothy grip releases. The ruined vampire lays gasping in debilitating pain on the ground when Carlisle appears. Both careful to avoid the sharp ends of the scrabbling, flailing, soon-to-be-corpse, Edward says, "I've got to kill him, brother." The sting in his leg makes his voice grate with tension.

"I know. Just get on with it." And he does.

When the fire has gone out some hours later, Carlisle's curiosity and fascination overcome his friend's reticence. "Just ask me, Carlisle. I'll tell you what you want to know."

"He was a dangerous enemy, Aedwaerth. His scars were a tapestry of successful battles. And you stopped him in seconds. How?"

"I've not told you my full story, friend. I suppose I thought I would never have cause to, but I've fought and killed everything that came against me. The mind reading helps. It's not hard to preempt when you can see their intentions ahead of time, but my violence runs deeper: to my bones. I was born a warrior, and you know this. And I fought my whole human life. At play as a child, as practice as a boy, at war as a man. It only got worse; it didn't stop when I became a vampire, and this is the part I've left out. In ten or twelve years at the beginning of my new life, I destroyed nearly every vampire on the entire island. I was bloodthirsty, territorial and brutal. We're both going to suffer for my sins, now."

Carlisle is rarely surprised at his friend's admissions, anymore, so he presses, "What did you see in his mind?"

"He didn't give much away, but it was clear someone hired him to kill me. A powerful group whose allies I ended; the sum was substantial. I suppose it took them this long to track me down. If I ventured a guess, I'd say it's the Volturi who sent him, but I'm not sure. I saw two faces in his mind, and I was under the impression there were three of them."

"I thought they did their own dirty work."

"That's what I've always heard. Although, the difference in protocol may stem from the fact that I've not broken any law."

"Sounds about right. So what do we do?"

"First, I teach you to fight, to move like me. Then we take it to their door."

"I'm with you, brother. Until the end. But are you sure that that's wise?"

"Do you want to look over your shoulder for all time? Wait for a threat that may or may not come? I will not hide, nor cower, nor run from an indiscriminate menace."

Carlisle contemplates this for several minutes. He considers a clandestine life full of shadow watching, dark caves and fear. Finally coming to a decision, he simply says, "Show me."

Two years pass, as well as two more attempts on Edward's life. Both are dealt with expediently, the latter by Carlisle's own hand. Carlisle's excellence as a student is matched only by Edward's intensity and verve as a teacher. In attempting to create a warrior in his companion, Edward leaves no stone unturned, no thought unspoken and no tactic untaught. It saddens and depresses him to do so, but he makes Carlisle in his own likeness: a fighter of uncanny speed and aggression, without inhibition or frenetic flaw. Like Edward, Carlisle becomes the perfect instrument of death, a machine made for murder. Their edges grow hard, and it is a difficult time for them to be together, for friction among friends feeds their discontent. The stress of an ill-conceived threat grates against patience and civility, and the constant training has worn down their reserves of kindness and tolerance.

When Edward is sure he's imparted all of his violent knowledge, they decide to tilt, to bring their strength to bear. With the information Edward gleaned from the two most recent assassins, they know that the Volturi aren't directly responsible for the bounty, but their acceptance of the situation rankles. Furthermore, they've facilitated the ridiculous death warrant by allowing members of the guard to go on leave for the express purpose of Edward's murder. The two companions have no clue who might've placed the price on his head, so Volterra is their next destination.

While the two brothers travel, taking their time to creep towards Tuscany, their spirits grow ever darker. Their morose is balanced by the awakening taking place around them in the human world. Culture and hope is being rediscovered, reclaimed from the feudal oppression that was widespread for millennium. The literacy rate is rising just as infant mortality rates fall. Kindness and courtesy are replacing stark aggression and brutality. It's a gradual crescendo that Edward catalogues instinctively, as simple as a merchant taking stock of his wares. It gives Carlisle and him hope that their own personal dark ages will not prevail or pervade their souls entirely.

After many weeks' worth of slow travel, the pair find themselves edging ever closer to the Volturi stronghold. They stop at a range of low hills to the north where they can lay eyes on the castle. After determining that the fortress is nearly impregnable, Carlisle's stress and worry evaporate. He's seeing the steely-eyed determination of his companion, and he finds solace in the hard set of Aedwaerth's jaw, but his nerves make him restless, so he makes idle conversation as a distraction. "Fifty virgins is quite the bounty. Did you ever reckon someone would equate your life to the untainted blood of half a hundred innocents?" His tone oozes derision, and Aedwaerth's answering scoff feeds their disillusion.

"Don't forget the gold. It seems all vampires like shiny things."

"How will we approach the castle?"

"Its placement is isolated and above the surrounding area so we've no room for subtlety. They probably know we're nearby, anyhow. Our best option is to wait for cloud cover and go in amongst the humans. That gives us some measure of control."

The following afternoon finds the area blanketed in grey cumulus clouds, the color of the sky and the feel of the air are oppressive. Their sprint across the valley feels like a funeral procession with the color leeched from the world. Their clothes hang heavy and rough on their skin, even though their bodies are twitchy and restless. When they breach the castle walls, walking down a narrow lane amidst an animal cart and human refuse, the reek of dozens of vampires pervades their senses. It sets them on edge, body and mind, so that they hardly appear human. When a hooded figure appears a few dozen paces away, they both freeze, split between obeying instincts and maintaining anonymity.

Pale fingers pull a dark gray cowl over waves of soft caramel colored hair to expose a startlingly sweet face. With a faint French accent, she speaks in the Florentine dialect of Italian and informs, "I am Esmeralda. What brings you to Volterra?"

Aedwaerth wants to laugh out loud at Carlisle's reaction, both physical and emotional, but he has the presence of mind to treat the situation as potentially hostile. "We're here to seek an audience with the Volturi council. I have a grievance," he answers in flawless Italian.

"What are your names?" It's clear that she follows a strict protocol.

"Aedwaerth and Carlisle."

"This way, please." The woman's thoughts are surprisingly calm and sweet, but laced with an unfamiliar sadness. She even comments internally on Carlisle's looks and his strange eyes, much to Aedwaerth's amusement, but quickly has hesitant and fearful thoughts that follow. The somber quality makes Edward's throat tighten, an unusual reaction to be sure, but considering his companion's distracted state, they must be under some supernatural influence. He flicks Carlisle in the ear, and taps his temple as if to say, "Stay focused, friend." Esmeralda leads them through a maze of tight passages and hallways, the path trending down as it doubles back on itself and twists through tons of stone. They pass several vampires along the way, but their thoughts betray no knowledge of the pair, nor any real interest in their passing.

Soon they reach an ornate chamber door; it's round, made of marble stone and completely covered in intricate gold plating. Pressed into the center of the door is a ruby the size of a fist. Their guide rolls the behemoth to the side, and they enter an antechamber nearly 100 paces long. Aedwaerth knows that beyond the corridor is the council chamber, where the multi-talented guard the three royal brothers. One of whom has a gift that eclipses Aedwaerth's, even if it's limited by touch. With this knowledge, he knows that the room will probably be their crypt, but it is not in him to walk away from a threat nor to back down from a fight.

Quiet conversation has filled the cavernous room before they walk into the chamber, but it gradually ceases as Esmeralda introduces them. Most thoughts are focused on their unfamiliar eye color, but a few are focused on the bounty. Those few are eager to dispense with the pleasantries and attack, but formality, obedience and fear dissuades them. Then the brothers begin, "I am Aro. This is Caius, and Marcus. And you, my interesting friend, are the erstwhile king of England."

"I am no longer a king."

An eyebrow arches, "That may be, but you've incensed some powerful people. And they've paid handsomely to expand their territory. And rid themselves of you."

"We claim no territory. We no longer feed from humans. Enough with this nonsense, Aro." He sneers the Etruscan's name. "I want to know who and where these cowards are."

"No longer feed from humans? How intere-"

"My patience ended when I torched the third member of your guard who tried to kill me. This foolishness will end, by my hand or theirs. Now tell me."

Aedwaerth's tone aggravates Aro into aggression. "Felix, teach our friend some manners." What Aedwaerth knows from Aro's mind is that he's reserving judgment, and Felix is meant only to impose order, establish Aro's dominion over Aedwaerth. Aedwaerth shoves Carlisle out of the way when the hulking vampire stalks slowly towards him. The no-neck inquires, "Do I get the bounty if I kill him?"

Aro replies cooly, "Take that up with James and Victoria, Felix. And please try not to make a mess."

The proceedings so far have lit a smoldering rage within Aedwaerth. He's not accustomed to being neither disrespected, nor discounted so easily, and he abhors it. But he has a faint human memory of how he dealt with disrespect among his war-band, and it involved severe pain and humiliation. Deciding the tactic is perfectly suited to the situation, he girds himself for battle.

When Felix charges, Aedwaerth makes no move. He simply stands his ground as the mountain of a man barrels towards him, and when he reaches him, Aedwaerth gets low and chops down on Felix's forearms, steps slightly right and pivots on his left foot. His hip catches Felix on his leg and the big man goes down on his rear, skidding a several paces, but Aedwaerth is up and after him before he can regain his footing, and he lands two resounding open hand slaps on either of Felix's cheeks. Aedwaerth knows that such a blow is not ultimately harmful, but it's disorienting and painful.

As Aedwaerth slithers backward across the marble, Felix shakes his head to remove the haze from his senses. It's clear that he's enraged, but the crowd gathered in the chamber room is murmuring their surprise and confusion. He comes at Aedwaerth again, at breakneck speed, but at the moment before they collide, Aedwaerth jukes, pulverizes a knee with a well placed fist and parries two wildly thrown grabs. With Felix kneeling on his remaining good leg, gasping for air in pain, Aedwaerth slaps him twice on the right cheek: a backhanded left, followed by a powerful right handed blow.

The he backs off again, standing motionless at the center of the room. While he waits for Felix to recover, he listens to the mental chatter, cataloguing information and making sure Carlisle is getting along well. Noting that there is a respectful halo of distance around his stoic companion brings him immense satisfaction, but it's tempered by the perverse pleasure that Caius and Aro seem to be taking at the proceedings.

He's only moderately annoyed when Felix stands, grabs his ruined kneecap and twists it back into place with a snarl. Intelligence seems to run in opposite proportion to size. The lumbering dolt charges Aedwaerth with a overloud growl, and the result is much the same; Aedwaerth blocks his initial assault with a flurry of lightning quick arms, gains an advantageous position with an elbow to the temple, and slaps Felix across the face twice. He backs up a few paces, and the process repeats itself. Felix is always a little behind Aedwaerth, and becomes a little slower each time.

By the time two full minutes have passed since the initial order, Felix's face is a crumbling ruin. Flakes of marble-like skin slough off in thin sheets, and he can barely keep his feet between bouts of barreling blindly toward Aedwaerth. When it's clear that Felix can no longer defend himself, Aedwaerth kicks him square in the chest. The massive stone mannequin careens across the room to flop lifelessly in front of the three thrones. Aedwaerth regards the Volturi royalty with a look equally balanced between boredom and malice and says, "I want answers."

By the wry grin on Aro's face and the delighted tone of the brother's thoughts, he knows he's passed some arbitrary test for survival among these savage creatures, but he feels no comfort from their acceptance. Aro answers him with an unnerving, "I have them all," and his blood-red eyes glint with mischief and mayhem.

* * *

A/N: Props to Stratan, beta magnifico. Rock on, good people.


	19. Misinterpreted Melodrama

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

After gliding through the back door of the house, Bella slides down Edward's rain-slicked back onto the redwood flooring. They're both dripping wet from intermingled sweat and rain when Alice walks in with two plush beach towels.

"Have a nice jog, you two?" Alice is so self satisfied as to be insufferable, but Edward can't quite work up any negative emotion; he's too busy drowning in the memory of a few moments passed.

Then he simply nods, his grin grows wider and he looks expectantly at Bella, who promptly blushes and mumbles, "Uh huh, but I'm pretty gross." She gestures to herself, muddy ankles and soaking clothes. "Could I take a shower?"

Edward pulls the towel snugly around her and stares intently at Bella, "You, beautiful, are the furthest thing from gross, but you're more than welcome to use my shower."

"No, no. I don't want to impose."

"I insist. I've got some high-flow shower heads that I think you'll enjoy."

Bella's eyes are locked with Edward's and all seven vampires in the Cullen home hear the thundering blat of her racing heart. Breathlessly she manages an "Okay."

Alice looks at Edward, her older brother, her maker, and her friend, with a confused grin rendering her face fairly comical and says, "You're... sweet. And like..." Her thoughts are full of surprise at Edward's endearing and heartfelt behavior; so unlike the austere shell he's pulled so tightly around himself over the centuries.

"That will be all, Alice. Thanks for the towels." Edward ushers Bella toward the stairs to his suite, away from the infinite embarrassing possibilities that Alice encompasses. He grasps Bella's hand at the top of the stairs and leads her to his enclave.

Even though the other members of his family share their bedrooms with a mate, Edward's is the largest. Compromise and conciliation are common tactics used to resolve domestic disputes, but the main coping technique the Cullen's use is a simple rotation system. Whether it's divvying up bedrooms, new last names, vacation time, or their next home location, each member of the family gets an equal turn. And this time, Edward had first choice in the domicile. Unapologetically, he took the master suite.

The exterior walls are floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking an unrailed balcony skirting around the corner of the house. In one end of the room there is an enormous leather couch facing an absurdly large flat-screen above a black brick fireplace. The opposite side of the room contains a well-worn wooden desk, which looks to Bella as if it's seen better days, with several computer monitors and a sleek-looking laptop covering most of its surface; the rest is strewn with papers and folders in various shapes, colors, and stack-heights.

Bella giggles, and with unbridled curiosity evident in his expression and voice, Edward asks, "What?"

"You're kinda messy." And she gestures to the desk, and then around the room. Edward has the bizarre sensation of looking at his room for the first time, and he notices the piles of books, records, CD's, and DVD's. There's even a few pairs of shoes and pants littering the lush carpet. He'd be embarrassed, but every one of his family members has teased him about it over the years.

"Yes. Well. Shelving doesn't help me remember where things are," he can _always_ remember, "and I don't spend too much time in here."

"I would. It's so nice and airy." Then she looks back at him with more questions in her eyes, and pauses. She stares at him very intently; Edward is almost nervous and her silent mind is making his stone heart do back flips through broken glass. "Do you have a tattoo?" Relief ripples through his consciousness at her innocent and innocuous inquisition; she's only glimpsed his markings through the thin, damp, now nearly transparent layer of his running shirt.

"Yes, several. You'd like to see them?"

"Well, I mean, you don't have to. Only if you want." Suddenly her eyes are on anything else, but that changes when Edward peels his shirt off. He makes sure to arch his back, and flex his impressive musculature as he does so, feeling implacably smug when he hears her quiet gasp. Then he closes the short distance between them so she can see the remnants of his Caledonian culture. In the center of his chest rests his king's crest. The rounded triangle is about the size of his fist, grids of interlocking, twisting lines make up its shape and texture. In the center is a small circle with no markings inside. Edward knows that the patterns, lines and shape had meaning, denoting his heritage and position among the Caledonii, but that specific knowledge was lost in the fires of the change. Bella's eyes are glued to his chest as she speaks, "Wow. I've never seen anything like that. Does it mean anything?"

Deliberating on how to answer takes only a moment, after which he says, "It's part of my history, who I was."

"What do you mean? And what about those?" Edward cannot bring himself to lie to her, but he can't begin to imagine telling her that each dot adorning his upper arms represents a man dead at his hands. Very few Caledonii had as long a spiraled dotted lines as Aedwaerth, his tally taking space on his right arm from elbow to underarm, and his left from mid-forearm to underarm. At the moment, each little stain is a glaring, glowering reminder that she should not be here, amidst murderers and monsters.

"Do you like them?" He suspects the answer will be no, but it's the best way he can conjure to change the subject.

"They suit you," she says with a sheepish expression. And he's far more pleased than he should be. What's more, he knows he should tell her the about the last, most offensive ones. His hair hides three thin knotted lines that run from temple to temple around the back of his head, a crown he can never remove. With a desperate look on his face, he leans down in front of her and spreads his hair with his fingers to show her.

He sighs with resignation when he feels her hands replace his, but he can't deny the satisfaction and whirlwind of sensation and emotion that he feels at her fingers deftly moving over his scalp. Then it's her lips on his forehead, and she's speaking softly near his ear, "They're beautiful, but you still haven't told me what they mean."

"I can't. Yet. I'll tell you everything, but not right now." He's thinking, _You'd run from me. And I can't let you go._

_ "_I know you're different. And scared to let me know how deep that difference goes, but don't be. I here, with my _teacher_, whom I just made out with," she lets out a nervous laugh and releases her gentle hold on his hair. "Obviously, I don't scare easily." Quiet laughter fills the house.

"I don't frighten you? At all?"

"No. Not in the way you're worried about." More laughter, from all parties. Edward stomps lightly on the floor to give voice to his displeasure.

"What do you mean?"

"No comment."

Edward groans in frustration at her impregnable mind and indecipherable answers. "Please, I have to know what you're thinking."

"I'll tell you if you tell me about the tattoos."

"Sly, Swan, and a valiant attempt, but no. Now go shower before you catch cold." She looks at him with questions brimming in her eyes, but rolls them at his admonishment instead and walks toward the bathroom. "I'll set your clothes outside the door and give you some privacy. See you downstairs?"

"Sure, I'll only be a few minutes."

In those few minutes, Edward spirals into a maelstrom of despair and depression, his thoughts fraught with self-recriminations, the enormity of his potential influence on Bella's life foremost on his mind. It's a level of anguish that he's not let himself sink to since the earliest days of his new life. Looping through his mind are scenarios of endless loneliness, hatred and malcontent, for him and Bella. And though he can hear the pain lancing through Jasper's mind as he soundlessly complains, the attack never relents. Until Bella walks into the room; he sees her, smells her, _wants_ her so much that it eclipses anything his fickle mind could construct to keep them apart.

Clearing twenty feet from a seated position, he leaps in her direction, catching and cradling her against him. When she attempts to ascertain after his inhuman feat, he silences her with the cool assurance of his lips. She responds with her own oaths, searing them into his skin, his heart. She breaks their kiss to breathe but mere moments pass before he spins and settles onto his back on a couch, the fragrant intensity of Bella's body poised above him. With nary a whisper, her pliancy is against him, as if Bella had neither the strength nor inclination to fight gravity anymore. Their bodies shift restlessly against one another, passion inclining them towards some fantastic fusion.

The dichotomy between their chaste, close-mouthed kissing, fervent though it is, and the quick escalation of writhing heat that joins them is enough to remind Edward of their differences. With a sigh signaling so many years of sexual frustration, he rolls Bella off of him, embedding her between the soft leather cushions and his unyielding abdomen. When her frantic breathing has calmed, he twines his legs between and around hers, a physical affirmation juxtaposed by the verbal warning he's about to deliver.

"I've done this all wrong, Bella. And I'm sorry." Then he grabs her hand and places it over his king's crest, and whispers _I need you_, in Caledonian. Her eyes go wide at his expression and demeanor, as if she's somehow divined the meaning behind his foreign words, but she stays still, seeing if he'll speak more in that seductive tongue. "I am less and more than I seem. I'll tell you anything." With her silence and scent surrounding him, his thoughts are as chaotic as his statements. And then she detects his dormant heart; her brow furrows in concentration and her fingers press insistently against him. She retracts her hand in horror, only to replace it at the pulse point on his neck.

In a strangely calm tone, she asks, "Why can't I feel a heartbeat?"

"Because I have none. But I'm in no danger. Strictly speaking, my body no longer needs a cardiovascular system to function."

She looks at him like he has three heads.

Edward simply raises an eyebrow at her, willing her to fit the pieces together, if only to save himself from the torture of admitting the gulf that yawns between them, but she doesn't come to any conclusions; sh simply stares, bewildered, her hand going between his chest and neck in insistent intervals.

"I'm going to reveal a number of startling things to you, 'm cara, but the first, and perhaps most disturbing, is that I'm not human. Haven't been for quite some time."

"Then what are you?" She sounds desperate, a much better reaction than fear.

"Before I tell you that, let me make you a promise. I will never hurt you. Far from it. I will only ever attempt to make you happy. But I am very dangerous, to you especially. I know you've heard or read stories about my kind, misguided as they are. I am a demon from the night. I am dead so that others may die. My proximity to you leeches the strength from your cells, and the heat from your bones. My teeth are sharp, my skin is cold, and my heart is silent. I am a vampire."

She stares at him with a blank look, but he can tell she's very annoyed when she says, "That is some specious bullshit. Are you messing around with me?" And the entire house, reserved Carlisle and normally indignant Rosalie included, roars with laughter.

"Is that laughing? You are messing with me, you prick!" And then she's trying vainly to remove herself from his embrace. "Let GO!"

"Stop, child." He voice reverberates with authority despite its moderate volume, and Bella's struggling ceases, as well as the laughter with had filled the house. "Isn't it odd that my entire family heard you curse at me, from every distant corner of the house? We have heightened senses, Bella. Feel my skin, look at my eyes..." Her eyebrows arch impossibly high. "At any rate, they weren't really laughing at you. They were amused at my 'newfound melodramatic tendencies,' to quote them. And they may also be laughing at your complete lack of fear. Some people have a tendency to laugh at things they don't understand." Emmet's laughter resumes, booming through the stout walls. "Shut up, you shit," Edward says, though he holds no hope that Emmet will.

When his eyes alight on Bella's, her arms opening a small distance between them, he relaxes his grip and pulls her effortlessly into a sitting position beside him. She's distressed, if Edward can tell anything from her body's inclinations, but she's not running. "You're serious?" He nods, and the silence stretches. "And you won't hurt me?"

"Never."

"Then prove it."

"You're sure?" And she nods.

Aedwaerth rises from the couch and makes his way to the entertainment center under the massive flat screen across the room. Reaching into a shelf, he yanks a well-loved video game console out the low cabinet. Sparks fly, plastic pieces ping against the wood and ricochet across the room.

"Don't electrocute yourself on my account." Edward doesn't say anything, but notes with a glance in her direction a strangely calm and detached look on Bella's face. Taking the roughly rectangular box on diagonally opposite sides, he crushes the machinery until his fingers meet. Plastic ejects around him, showering the floor, the couch and Bella as she gapes at the absurd display his strength. Molding the black sphere, the intense pressure of his hands fuses the materials into a composite cannonball. He hands it to her. Bella examines the seamless surface, seeing the dark colors coalesce; the weight she expected, but it's beyond her how he made the spherical shape so regular. He takes the ball from her hand and replaces his own, and leads her around the corner into the kitchen, silently staring at the ceiling with squinting eyes.

Aedwaerth places his hands on her shoulders, and moves her within the doorframe, ordering, "Stay put." She glares, but it's clear that her rage underwhelms her curiosity. Right before he winds up to throw, he hears a faint but amused, "oh, damn," from Emmet on the floor just above. He launches the missile with a well-aimed overhand and it moves so quickly through the wood, cement, rebar and plaster that his eyes lose track. Staring through the jagged circular hole between the two floors, the first thing he sees is Emmet leaned back against his bed, clutching at the side of his head.

"Not in the ear, old man! What was that?" Pranks between the two of them ran towards the violent side, brotherly camaraderie cemented through laughter and competitive fun. And typically the altercations ended with one of the two gasping in pain and laughter, begging the other to request Carlisle to fix, set, re-locate, or reattach. So it's old hat to the family, but Bella, whose eyes are boring down the tunnel between the kitchen and bedroom, looks genuinely concerned for the insensitive ogre upstairs.

Edward obtains Bella's attention with a gently nudge of his shoulder, and informs her, "He _did_ laugh at you. And he's fine." By the time Bella looks back down the hole, Emmet's face has made the far end darken, and she can hear him through the passage say, "Hey, this is pretty awesome, think Esme will let us keep it like this? And don't think that I don't know that that was my 360, you relic." Then everyone is laughing again, the tension of the moment ebbing away with Jasper's extra influence. Under the empath's super-sensory influence, Bella looks giddy, almost high. Without asking, he lifts her into him, and she grasps him as best she can with her newly realized weakness.

As he breaches the treeline behind the house, Bella ousts her emotional stupor. Then she goes rigid with surprise and adrenaline when she fully experiences their terrible speed. She hears Aedwaerth's censure, "I told you I was a vampire." Then softer he soothes, "I will keep you safe."

"Where are we going?" Bella's voice is steady, despite the fear or flight chemicals in her blood. Her fingers are firmly in his shirt and hair, so he's hoping for her faith, her trust, her continued interest.

"To my favorite place." Where he'll say whatever it takes to make her stay and do whatever he must to gain her favor. Aedwaerth will begin by telling her his story, the journey that sets him apart.

* * *

A/N: Stratan and I wanted you to know that no innocent video game systems were harmed while writing this chapter.


	20. Draconian Deals

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The devil comes with a smile. Aedwaerth and Carlisle are convinced he's sitting before them. As some steam swirls sedately, they lounge in a old-roman style bath house. The three of them have been politely, but pointedly discussing their alternative feeding habits, and Aro is trying to argue them into murder.

"Why deny your nature?" he says with grandfatherly censure. Aedwaerth can see in his mind that he has no hesitation in taking human life and that his essence may lack some integral moral imperative.

"Perhaps I'm defective."

A hellish cackle pierces the room. "Not from what I've seen."

"Will you argue our disparity, Aro? You've seen the patterns of life, the way it clings and shifts in seamless uniformity. It occurs to me that our presence is the aberration." A deep sigh and then, "I've always been intrigued by human thought and action. Maybe years of watching them lead desperate, hopeful lives engaged my empathy. Are they so different from you and I in thought and temperament, action and desire? I've seen humans with insatiable bloodlust, too."

Aro mumbles something which sounds like, "Fucking Carthaginians." Then he continues, "No, our presence here is a mysterious tragedy for humanity. What of the taste?"

"Mundane at best. Seemingly sufficient as a form of sustenance, but not exactly palatable. Carlisle seems to appreciate the flavors, and we suppose that's because he's never tasted human blood."

Aro seems confused but awed when he responds with a simple, "Never?"

Aedwaerth moves slowly across the room, wading through calf-deep water to Aro's side. He extends his hand and says, "As a gesture of our good faith, see for yourself."

When they grasp each other's wrists, Carlisle sees a look of discomfort pass across Aro's normally blankly serene face. It's either the pressure of Aedwaerth's powerful grip, or the intensity of assimilating an entire life. The exchange lasts more than five minutes, and all the while, Aro levels mysterious and troubled looks at both of them, as if seeing an inexplicable apparition. Just as Carlisle begins to wonder whether their telepathic interaction will ever end, they release their grip and step back, regarding each other with openly friendly expressions.

"Did you know that in a few weeks, you will be a thousand years old, my friend." Aro's wry grin and jovial tone are completely at odds with their experiences in Volterra so far, and Aedwaerth can see the bafflement in Carlisle's thoughts.

He turns to his young friend and grants him a conspiratorial wink, then turns back to Aro, "I was always a little busy for birthdays before the change. And it seemed trivial once I was no longer aging."

"Surely. At first glance, your gift seems very... convenient. But I can see that your thoughts run deep, and it's a burden to you. How difficult to see only the end."

"And because you have the advantage of witnessing an entire life, you can consider yourself their judge and authority?"

"Do you disagree?"

"I'm sure I lack the perspective to answer that."

Aro lets fly a deep belly laugh and smiles wide as he answers, "Truly you are a diplomat, Aedwaerth Caledonii. I never thought I'd have a Pict king sitting in my presence. Most Romans were under the impression that you lot were barbaric and untamed. I can see that is certainly not the case."

"Your ancestors never belonged in my home. We did not need their roads or _hospitality_. And I can see that they shared your hunger for conquest and dominion." Aedwaerth is no longer treading on uncertain ground with Aro. He knows that the old Etruscan considers him an equal, a new friend, and an enigma. Aro is not omniscient, as he lacks the insight to see the interplay between emotion and thought, the intangibles of spirit or soul, so he'll always be interested in Aedwaerth's choices.

"We come to it this soon, eh? Remember that we are more similar than not." The de facto ruler of the Volturi glances between them with an unguarded and honest expression, and Aedwaerth can see that his thoughts hold no deceit. "You know that I desire your membership in the guard. But I can't use you. I can see when I'd have no hold over someone, and I've no wish to destroy something as astonishing as the two of you." He leans back and rubs his chin. "You seek enlightenment through knowledge and truth. A worthy and admirable goal. Mine have always been less lofty. Can I help you in your quest?"

Carlisle pipes up, "We've heard you have a library. Vast and ancient."

"Yes. Alexandria was fledgling by comparison. I've been in the business of collection my entire life. I was an antiquities dealer as a human; it's a hobby that I still have some fondness for. It's actually how I came into contact with the coven who has placed the bounty."

His comment is almost flippant, but Aedwaerth can hear the myriad machinations of Aro's politically inclined mind. Compromise and concession are part of his ploy, but that's as a reaction to Aedwaerth's brashness and brilliance. Disconcerted and alarmed, Aedwaerth can see the wheels turning towards tasking in exchange for the information he'll provide. "Don't forget I can hear your thoughts, Aro. What is it you want from us?"

"Your directness is refreshing. I have a few requests which require a certain skill set. Your skill set. In exchange for the information you want, and access to the library, I'd like you to go to task for me."

"Your proposal?"

"First, I need a observer and courier. We've established that twins in western Scandinavia have great potential as future guard members. My request is that you go to them, relieve the guard on duty and bring them back here once you have ascertained the exact nature of their talents. Their names are Alec and Jane Gandr. We've been watching them since they were accused of witchery and the information came down the aqueduct. It seems the local humans have discovered something supernatural within the pair. I want them protected and whole, Aedwaerth. And brought here expediently." Aedwaerth twirls his hand, gesturing for him to continue, having already collected and catalogued the pertinent information from Aro's mind.

"The second task will prove much more difficult. But it will solve your problems if you succeed. Let me start at the beginning..." Aro proceeds to tell them of his last human years as a wealthy, powerful merchant in the third century BC. His money gained him fame and favor among the ruling class, and his talents at reading and manipulating others for mutual gain became legendary in Tuscany. He eventually earned the attention of a peculiar, but highly regarded foreign noble from Egypt named Kheti. "I knew things about the people I met, even as a human, but I could get no read on this man. After our initial meeting, I didn't see him for months. Until he found me wandering home drunk from a brothel with my friends, Caius, and Marcus: now my Volturi brethren." He speaks with a hint of chagrin and amusement.

"He changed us, bade us uphold a law, gave us the wisdom and wherewithal, and left. But this man is unusual and ancient, Aedwaerth. He is the only person I have encountered who can withhold things, lie outright to me in his thoughts. I'd venture he can do the same to you. I've a theory that his mandate to me and my companions was nothing more than a profane and frivolous experiment, regardless of its necessity or success. This vampire sired the two who've warranted your death. They reign over Paris, everything north to the Norman coast and south to the Alps. They've broken the law in the last few years, keeping humans as pets and playthings, exposing their true nature. Abominable."

"You want to be rid of your sire. And the other two?"

"James and Victoria. An English noble and his wife on vacation turned in 1398. We think that James may have been responsible for Roger Mortimer's death. If you'll recall he was the heir to the throne of England. Their _vacation_ may have been an escape. Anyway, the three of them swept through France, displacing stable covens and leaving a swath of carnage in their wake. Sometime during all this mayhem they managed to begin selling purloined antiquities. I obtained some Carthaginian war implements and a very interesting African ritual drum made from the remains of an elephant. I wonder if they're edible... for your sake of course. It'd be quite a meal."

Aedwaerth rolls his eyes in an impatient but indulgent gesture. "Please, Aro. Get on with it."

"That's nearly everything. I've not had the privilege of touching them, and I've not seen old Kheti, but I know they're his by their smell. If I had to guess at the intent of their bounty, I'd say they want your island for themselves, nothing more or less.

"Let me warn you: Kheti is easily your match in battle and you may be at a disadvantage if he can circumvent your ability. James and Victoria are calm and deadly, both tenacious and precise. Be wary and choose your stand carefully. I'd like to be rid of the whole lot of them, so I'll give you what assistance I can."

"You've allowed guard members to attempt to collect the lawbreaker's bounty. Why?"

"It was only recently that we attributed the aforementioned indiscretions to these particular vampires, and I had no intention of letting Felix burn you. Which you know. Kheti is practiced at aversion and misdirection. It was actually Esmeralda who alerted us to the issue. She's one of their abandoned playthings."

Carlisle and Aedwaerth exchange a loaded glance, one stacked with both hesitance and solidarity. When Aedwaerth speaks, it is with unusual reticence, "You understand if we discuss the details amongst ourselves. It will require at least a day."

"More than fine. Esmeralda can show you to a private place, and guide you to the library, as well. I know you're anxious to see... the books, Carlisle." An obvious look passes between the two ancients as they exit the dank and dimly lit bathhouse and Aro is silently wondering if they'll let him officiate a wedding.

As they wander the labyrinthine passageways back towards the council chamber, both men are mired in their own thoughts. And both men consider that they'd serve themselves and each other better by simply disappearing; becoming a mercenary for the Volturi does not sit well. Their differences among fiends and freaks yawns wider with each passing moment, but the memory of three assassination attempts, and the infuriating audacity of the bounty weighs heavier. As they both come round to the same thoughtful conclusion, Aedwaerth places a hand on his friend's stone shoulder and affirms, "A means to an end, brother. Then we're done with this place and these people."

He doesn't expect the profound loss and panic that Carlisle feels when he hears these words. Neither does the man himself, but he knows it's inextricably linked to a genteel guard member they met moments before. Shaking his head and laughing at the unexpected and baffling turn of events, he points down the winding corridor and admonishes, "Get after her, English. Use that abysmal French of yours. I'm sure she'll be _tres_ _tres _impressed."

The bewildered look on Carlisle's face is a perfect match to his frantic thoughts, and Aedwaerth is getting more amused by the moment. "What do I say?" comes Carlisle's whispered plea.

"Ask her to show you the library. Or her tits."

Carlisle's growl reverberates in the marble hallway, but not as loudly as Aedwaerth's answering laugh. Aedwaerth just lifts an eyebrow at him to inform him of the joke, but Carlisle's Christian sensibilities have been offended. "Must you be so crass?"

"Oh hush, you old crone. Just trying to get a rise out of you, anyway. It's excellent to see you so flustered. I was beginning to think you'd be a monk like me."

Immediately Carlisle's calm and inquisitive nature resumes control. "Do you not desire women? I've heard you comment on a human or two."

After a moment of introspection, "Hearing their thoughts is... off-putting. I suspect true intimacy is more about discovery than release. At any rate, I've not felt that desire since I was a human. Perhaps I really am defective." When he hears the self-sacrificing direction of Carlisle's thoughts, he's quick to quash the maudlin moment, saying, "But you're not. So let's go get the girl, son."

"Let's?"

"HA! You're barking mad if you think I'd miss this. You'll probably need my help, anyway."

Inside the library chamber decaying bits of book hover in the air like an army of motes. Aedwaerth gladly breathes them, content to have history accumulate in his long-dead lungs. The dark wooden shelving holds the world's greatest literary treasures, and most of the scientific achievement. Metaphysics from long-dead mystics is stacked aside Pythagoras' theorem, penned by the man himself. In his hands he holds a Han dynasty scroll of proverbs; it's immaculate, over 1500 years old and completely indecipherable to him.

But Aedwaerth has little interest in either the library or the scroll's contents at the moment. For now he's immersed in the conversation taking place between the enamored young couple a few aisles over. He knew it was all over for Carlisle when his young friend was internally commenting on her 'incendiary rubies,' without even considering the connection of her diet. But he doesn't begrudge his cohort for blind affection, especially considering that he's genuinely enjoying the experience of their freefall. That he is romantic only bothers him insofar as he has no one to share it with. For now, though, it is enough simply to listen and to hear.

Carlisle's tender inquisition begins tentatively, "How did you come to be here, among the Volturi?"

"I did not know how to be a vampire. They took me in, forgave me my crimes and gave me a purpose." Esmeralda's tone is severe and formal but it doesn't match her thoughts, which read like shadowy images from a human nightmare to Aedwaerth; full of horror, James and Victoria.

"How long have you been here?"

"I came here immediately after being turned, which was almost ten years ago."

"We're close to the same age then." And the thought pleases both of them far too much for the coincidence. "I was turned almost fifteen years ago. When I was twenty-three."

"Do you remember your human birth year?"

"I think it was 1385, sometime..."

Then both of them continue, "... in the spring." When they catch each other's eyes, their look is so laden with implication and hope that it causes Aedwaerth's chest to tighten. He's having as hard a time controlling his reactions as they are.

Carlisle's gentle probing is eroding Esmeralda's wall of formality like it was constructed on sand. And he can see her warming to him, which only hastens the whole process. He continues with, "Where did you live?"

"I was born in a village outside of Rheims named Caurel. You?"

Carlisle is so taken with her accented English he barely notices the question, but recovers with, "Oh... uh. London. I'm from London. But we've lived all over the island since then. The longest in Wales."

Esmeralda is filled with longing for a life filled with such diversity, but only Aedwaerth knows it. "You and Aedwaerth? The tall one?"

He nods. "He's especially tall considering he's one thousand years old."

With disbelief, "Non." She was under the impression that only the brethren were of that age.

"Absolument. From what he says, humans used to be much shorter, on average."

"You have good height, too." Carlisle is too pleased to notice that her English suffers when she's nervous.

With his best bedroom eyes he responds, "I'm pleased you think so." She's not immune to his stare, and it reminds her of her most burning question.

"Why are you gold and not red? If you don't feed from humans, how can you stand the burn?"

"We feed from animals." Though he's not ashamed, Carlisle is nervous for her reaction to his diet.

"Vraiment? It can be done?"

"It's worked so far. But it's difficult, and humans still smell like food. It's worth it, though, to live like we do."

In Esmeralda's thoughts, Aedwaerth sees the question form. And her inquisition is the key to a new stage of life, one with a daughter, sister, and mother sharing their journey. He can only hope that they see it as clearly as he does.

"Will you show me?"

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the delay. Stratan, badass beta, prepared this particular prose with extreme care. And folks, some excellent and scary things will happen soon. Expect car chases, homemade explosives and 'company liasons.'


	21. Fun with Friction

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

It was the welcome inconvenience of a cute human cradled against his chest that kept Edward from his top speed. But Bella's heat was fairly leeched out of her over the two hour trip so that between the sun's failing light providing too little warmth to combat the damp 59 degrees, the nearly triple digit streams of air, and the necessity of clinging to a cold-skinned creature, she got quickly chilled. The brisk autumn wind whipping around the cliffs isn't helping either. At the sight of his shivering sweetheart, Edward is quick to come to her rescue.

"Cover your ears," he requests. When Bella, huddled in on herself, casts an annoyed glance his way, he simply rolls his eyes, grins at her and laughs out, "suit yourself, silly Bella." The cacophony that erupts from between his hands, now furiously rubbing together, is the immortal's equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. And even though she can't hear anything other than the ridiculous din, she can see his giggling face, and his obvious amusement at her bewilderment and continued annoyance. What she doesn't realize, and can't fathom, is that Edward is giddy at the prospect of this _girl_, who has the brass to be annoyed at, and defiant to, a potentially murderous myth.

His hands, near glowing with heat from friction have switched to frenetically roaming his shirtless torso, having tucked his flannel button-up in the waistband of his jeans. Warming his whole upper body takes a moment, and he's watching Bella's features morph from aggrieved discomfort into mild-mannered amusement. He's keen to ask what's tickled her, and does so after she dislodges her dainty fingers from her ears. "You just felt yourself up."

He guffaws once and freezes her, deer-in-the-headlights, with a dangerous smirk. Then, as he stalks toward her, he soothes, "No 'm cara, _this_ is a vampire-feel-up." When she's fully in his arms, limp and warming, she moans comically loud and snarks ,"watch those wandering hands," and softer, "or don't." They are, at that moment, underneath her bra-strap at the center of her back and progressing steadily south of her waistline under her jeans. At her insistent but entirely unconvincing, "Quit it," he relents and returns to simply warming what cool skin remains. When the heat seems to have seeped into her sufficiently, he grabs her hand, tugs her over to the cliff face overlooking the Pacific and plops down unceremoniously amidst a copse of evergreens. She sits facing him a few feet away, back against bark, and the silence singes their nerves. Edward breaks it, his voice cracking through air like the frayed edge of a live-wire, "What do you want to know?"

She narrows her eyes, "What happened on the first day of school?"

Avoidance is his first instinct, so he says, "Pertaining to us? A few things actually."

"I'm talking about when you..." Bella's blush begins to bloom. "...you know, grabbed me."

"There's not a simple explanation for what happened. Let's just say you _aroused_ me."

Her face is red, but the reason behind its color shifts from embarrassment to anger fairly quickly for a human. If nothing else is certain, it's clear that Edward ignites Bella's passions in roller-coaster fashion. "Don't do that. Try and distract me with your... vampire dazzle. I want to know what was really going on."

"I'm not lying, Bella. I felt—feel—desire for you. In every way imaginable; when your scent wafted to the front of that classroom, I felt a thirst for human blood that I've never experienced." He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, examine Bella for signs of stress and run his hands through his wind-whipped hair. "Your scent is beyond description, but I will say that I have never encountered such a perfect aroma in my whole life."

Bella glances around, as if taking in her surroundings for the first time. What she sees, among the rock-strewn mossy ground, the varieties of flora, and the panoramic view of the pacific, is her isolation and vulnerability. In spite of this, Edward detects no outward signs of fear. "You said that you wouldn't hurt me. Is that still true?"

"Yes. I've desensitized myself somewhat. Restraint is nothing new to me."

"I do trust you."

"You're right to question me, Bella. And you need to know these things about me, so that we're on equal footing. To me, you are much more than your scent. You are very important to me, so much so that I could never hurt you. I'm so, so sorry."

Nodding and nibbling on her lower lip are her only responses, but a burden is lifted by her straightforward acceptance of his nature. Bella, in her unpredictability, alights on a lighter subject.

"Where are you from?"  
"Scotland." The word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "The highlands."

"Your accent isn't Scottish. You sound more like... Legolas." His eyebrows rise and there's a specter of a smile but he doesn't comment, mainly because her blush distracts him.

He'd intended to ease her into his more traumatic aspects, but Bella obviously has none of his hesitance. Between the situational stress and the frustration of her silent mind, he's having a hard time deciding how to answer, so deliberates, "It's a little tricky to..."

"Out with it," she interrupts.

"English isn't my first language. Nor my second."

Bella is silent a moment while she logics this out. Then she says, "Oookay. Let's come back to that one, captain confusing." A ponderous pause, then, "So you eat people?"

Aedwaerth feels like a fool for leaving this issue unaddressed, but her calm goes a long way towards assuaging his guilt. He's almost cheerful, "No. Animals. Besides you, It's been... well... a _while_ since I was interested in human blood."

"And you chase down, like... deer and stuff, in the woods?" She says this in an attempt to convince herself.

"Deer are the largest component of my diet at the moment. But they taste somewhat... I would say it's analogous to bitter, though I'm not certain. Others mammals taste better, and it correlates to the amount of dietary protein. Wolves and the big cats are my preferences, but they tend to be scarce in any ecosystem. So mainly we eat the local large herbivores. In this case: deer. It gives our eyes a less conspicuous color; normal vampires, almost all of them, don't share our diet, and have red irises."

With no hint of sympathy, "Poor Bambi never had a chance did he? Wait. You said big cats. Like lions?" Her eyebrows are attempting to hide in her hairline. "You know what, never mind. Let me think for a second." And she does. "How much of what I've read is real, and how much is vampire propaganda: stuff made up to throw everybody off?"

"Snow in summer, you are _astute._"

"Flattery will get... oh hell." She breathes the expletive just as a smile overtakes her lips. Edward just smiles, happy and smitten until he realizes she asked him a question he's yet to answer.

"Most of it is nonsense. In fictionalized accounts, writers attribute a number of weaknesses to vampires in order to create realistic tension between the two species. But we are, for all intents and purposes, invulnerable to humans. Meaning... aside from a tactical nuclear warhead, Van Helsing was massively outgunned."

"Has a vampire been nuked?" Her face is scrunched with something between confusion and mirth.

"Ah... there might've been one in Hiroshima or Nagasaki, but it's impossible to say. At any rate, that's more of a theory based on scientific observation combined with some personal empirical evidence."

"What empirical evidence?" Either Bella has a knack for asking troublesome questions, or he deems a large percentage of his personal history heavy for a human. She senses his hesitation and admonishes, "Look, either take me home or start answering my questions a little more honestly. What happened to 'anything, everything.'" Her imitation of his voice is not flattering. "I mean, we've kissed, and we're not even members of the same species, and I don't even..." By the time she gets wound up, Edward feels transparent and childish; he silently promises, to her and himself, to freely divulge the facts.

For some reason, Edward is reminded of their first few conversations. So, out of reflex rather than reason, he interrupts and attempts to soothe her, "Bella. You're right. And I'm sorry." He struggles with the words that need to come next. "It's just... my life has been—is—

a series of gruesome events. I only want to protect you from that. You are so young." Bella waits expectantly for him to continue. "I was in Ethiopia and there was an... altercation. I had to dispose of a particularly nasty member of 'my species,' as you so eloquently, and accurately phrased. We happened to be within a few miles of Erte Ale." He stops here to illuminate her on the active volcano, one of very few with a lava lake within the summit. "We tossed her in. I believe the temperatures, well north of 1000 degrees celsius, were enough to destroy her. She didn't climb out, at any rate. There are higher temperatures within the radius of a nuclear blast. Much higher actually." The look on Bella's face is completely indecipherable, and Edward hears no thoughts to go by. So he presses on. "Was that forthcoming enough?"

"So how many ways can you kill a vampire?"

He laughs, "You're already figuring out ways to kill me?"

"You're on thin ice, buddy. Above a lake of lava. Just answer the question."

"Yes ma'am. The traditional way to end us is decapitation, dismemberment, and setting the pieces aflame. There's the lava. I'd guess that the vacuum of space would probably do it, but I've no realistic way to test that one."

"That's it? No blood diseases or drowning or anything else?"

"Technically we don't even require oxygen, although it's uncomfortable to refrain from breathing for too long. I have never heard of any vampire dying from disease or old age." A large grin when he sees the segue. "And I'm very old, my darling."

Bella looks like an adolescent who's been served a plate of kale and squash. "Oh God, you're ancient aren't you. You must be, like, one hundred and four or something. You could be my great great grandfather. Maybe you _are_ my..."

Again, her diatribe has left Edward laughing, "Oh, it's much worse than that, I'm afraid. Bella, I was born, I think, in the year 423. In Scotland. That's why English isn't my first language—it didn't exist yet."

Bella looks almost relieved, and then she levels him, "Somehow that's better."

"In what way is that better?"

It looks as though the thoughts occur to her as they leave her mouth when she starts, "Would it make sense if I said that because you're so different we can actually relate? Look, you can pose as a teacher at a rural high school, so you can't be that different. You look young. We... get along. It doesn't matter how old you are." It sounds to Aedwaerth like she's trying to convince herself.

"So what you're saying is... they don't make 'em like they used to." He has a wry grin on his face, because he wholeheartedly agrees, but she's not even listening.

"So what did you do back then, as a human? Were you a blacksmith or something?"

"I was a tribal king and a warrior."

She laughs, then sobers and says, "Oh. You're serious."

"Quite."

"So you had subjects. And a crown? This sounds ridiculous, Edward."

A deep sigh. "I know. But you've seen my crown," and his fingers sift through hair to reveal the dark ink underneath. "And I would not lie to you."

When the conversations stops and she considers this, he scuttles a few feet closer to her and, and when he hears no objections, he plants himself beside her. In those scant seconds, her posture has closed him off completely; her hair has curtained her face which is cradled in her own palms and she's canted forward, elbows on knees. Settled so close to her, Edward's actions have little basis in forethought—he simply places an arm around her shoulders and uses his opposite hand to reveal her right ear by placing the silken weight of her hair behind her shoulder. He leans close and says, "What is it?"

Bella can't quite banish the tortured look on her face, or the tremble in her voice when she asks, "How many times have you done this?"

"Done what?"

"Made some stupid, human girl fall for..."

A gasp, a mile-wide-smile then, "Do you like me, Bella Swan?" She doesn't say anything, rather she uses a backhand to speak for her, but Edward gingerly catches it before she can damage her delicate human hand. Placing lingering kisses along the back of her wrist, savoring the essence of her skin, he begins to disabuse her of such ludicrous notions. "I've been remiss, 'm cara. How could you know how wrong you are?" Edward has never seen her bright brown eyes so wide, or this beautiful woman look more like a child. "Vampires are different from humans. We're static, stuck in a single moment of time: that second after our transformation is complete. I've only gone through two true changes in my long life. The first was when I rediscovered my humanity, sloughed off the beast that bade me murder indiscriminately. The second was the moment I saw you, and knew what you might be to me. Do you not know? It is only you. It will only ever be you. You _own_ me, 'm cara." Edward can't resist leaning close and placing a soft, sweet kiss on her parted lips. "You may doubt what I am, but please do not despair _who_ I am."

"So what are you?"

A moment of heavy-handed self-judgment twists Edward's face into a hard mask. Then he tells her, "A murderer, a mercenary, a thief and a liar. Imagine a bad thing ,and I have probably done it. Dream of an evil, and I have seen it. Envision a life of darkness, and I have lived it." _What was it she said earlier_, he thinks, '_out with it.' _"I killed corrupted and cold men for a thousand years. For a decade before that I ate anything with a pulse. As a human, I killed my fellow man for petty politics, land and wealth." He's sure to make eye contact with her here, in an effort to convey his sincerity. "I'm not remotely good enough for you, but I'm too selfish to leave you alone."

She doesn't say anything, but she also doesn't remove his arm from around her. Bella's reticence is frustrating for Edward, especially since he can't read her thoughts, but he won't begrudge her reflection on his revelations. Over the course of their conversation, the sun has squatted on the horizon. The orange orb has swelled under earth's atmospheric distortion, popped out from under the ever-present clouds, and the fading sunlight writhes on the salty chop. It's for this very view that Edward admires this place. He may be resigned to the shadows, but he is a creature of the light; the peculiars of circumstance may have curved his choices, but Edward emerged with a clear and profound understanding of what is moral and the way he must live to satisfy his conscience. As they watch the sunset, they both know this. Bella's perceptive mind has cleaved to his heart, and she sees him for what he is: a man, like any other, fighting an ancient struggle to act justly, love mercy and walk humbly.

"It's getting late. And cold." Bella's voice breaks several minutes of comfortable silence. Despite being able to hear a few human minds, Edward has experienced a moment of peace he rarely, if ever, experiences. It's realigned his thoughts and emotions, and they are in stark contrast to the serious conversation they just had. After getting both of them to their feet, he checks his phone, the latest touchscreen technology, which has a text message from his clairvoyant. It reads, _Car- 750m north-northeast at Chevron. Key on front passenger __wheel. __Feed her._

With a hesitant smile, he informs, "Alice brought us more convenient transportation. It's about a half-mile away, so do you want to walk or ride?"

"Piggy back?" she asks.

"Sure, but you'll have to hang on tight. Can't have the g-forces taking you away from me."

Feigning hurt she retorts, "I've got a good grip."

Edward winks, and suggests, "I'm sure you do."

After Bella catches on, she looks flummoxed and mumbles, "Such a guy."

Edward squats down and glances sidelong saying, "Mount up."

A grin begins to creep at the corners of Bella's mouth, "Stop, already." But she climbs on without further protest, and Edward gently accelerates, no faster than a human, until he's dodging trees with preternatural grace.

"I'm sorry I teased you, Bella. I'm just happy you're not running away, or reporting me to your father."

"You underestimate me, Edward. I think... I thought I knew what I was getting into, what with you being my teacher, so all of this," she squeezes his shoulders, "isn't as big of a shock, maybe. It's just varying degrees of the same insanity."

"At least you've acknowledged that it's insane. And here we are." Edward slows to a reasonable pace as he breaks the tree line and comes to rest next to the Vanquish parked behind a gas station.

"Weird. I thought we were in the middle of nowhere."

"That's America. Always close to petroleum products." Bella gives him a strange look at his statement and then realizes that Edward has retrieved the key and has the door opened for her. When she stares, mouth agape and makes no move to get in the car, Edward inquires, "Would you like to drive?" No response. "Why don't you drive, and I'll navigate."

"Is this your car?"

"Not as sharp as I thought. What gave it away?" His teasing snaps her out of her funk. And she snatches the key, tongue pointed at a certain vampire, as she makes her way around the vehicle to the driver side door. When she gets there Edward is already there, door ajar, gesturing for her to sit.

"So you've been alive for like, forever. Just how rich are you?"

He contemplates for a moment then decides to be a bit vague, "I could buy every person in forks an Aston Martin. And still make the mortgage." Bella just shakes her head. "What do you know about the time-value of money, anyway?"

She hesitant at first but then divulges, "My mom isn't exactly responsible enough for that kind of thing. I started balancing the checkbook when I was 12." She rolls her eyes, "Don't get me wrong. I love her, but she was always too scatterbrained for that kinda thing."

"And you picked up the slack? That doesn't seem fair."

"Life isn't... like I need to tell you." Bella seems deep in thought, a condition that Edward groks is her norm. While she's contemplating, she slips the car into first and smoothly accelerates out of the parking lot, following his cues on their destination. Then she asks, "Speaking of unfair, how did you get to be a vampire?"

"If I answer your question, will you consent to mine for the rest of the evening?"

Tantalizing Edward, she chews on her lower lip and negotiates, "This one, and one more. But we're not done, Edward. I need to know things."

"That's debatable, but I'm willing to tell you, against my better judgment and counter to your best interest."

"So go ahead."

"I'd lead the war-band against a group of Celts that had been raiding my people's farms. After the battle..." Edward feels the car, traveling five miles-per-hour _under_ the speed limit, swerve slightly before Bella recovers, "Tanya, a female vampire, bit me." After explaining the mechanism for vampire transformations, namely the bite and the venom, he continues, "She'd intended for me to be some kind of sexual accessory." Another small swerve as Bella flinches behind the wheel. "I declined by outrunning her. I'm very fast. I didn't see her again until 1905. We've since become... friends. She understands and respects that I could never be with her that way."

"That wasn't what I was expecting."

"Me neither. Alright, left here and then pull into that parking lot." Edward gestures to the boutique restaurant catty-cornered across the intersection.

"Edward, where are we?"

"Ocean Shores. Were you worried about us being seen together?"

"A little yeah. Where is that?"

"We're about one hundred miles south of Forks. And I can guarantee you that our little liaison will not be discovered."

"How?" Bella is clearly disbelieving.

"If I answer that question, it will be your last one for the evening." She deliberates, and then requests that he continue. "Bear in mind that you are my exception, in this and many other ways." As he says this the car comes to a stop outside the small seafood establishment and he takes her hands in his. "I can read the thoughts of those around me. In all my life, in all my encounters with humans and vampires, you are the only person whose thoughts are hidden. Do you know how remarkable you are?" His smile and sincerity have surprised Bella to the point of asphyxiation. "Breathe, 'm cara." She does and then, for the first time, initiates a kiss.

Their lips press against each other's firmly, almost awkwardly. Bella's hands have clutched his mouth to hers so humanly hard that he's afraid to move. They continue to kiss and cling for a minute, both of them silently cursing the cumbersome center console. Gradually she loosens her hold on his hair and pulls away to inform him, "I'm actually kind of hungry. Could we continue this later?"

Edward nods, not trusting his tongue, and they enter the tiny restaurant. What follows is 48 minutes of intense interrogation, where Edward catalogues characteristics and comments like he'll be tested on the material. Despite his tenacity for the task, it's the most pleasant meal that Bella can ever remember having, even if she's struggling to chew with her mouth closed amidst his incessant questioning. Discovering that Bella is an intelligent, intuitive introvert is akin to an archeologist uncovering Atlantis for Edward. He's so attracted and so attentive during the meal, that Bella is constantly slapping at his wandering hands. What neither realizes, Edward-the-mind-reader included, is that everyone in the restaurant is glowing with their reflected affection. Just as they've ignited each other, everyone around them experiences a small portion of their joy. Just as the check comes, and they prepare to leave, Edward senses this in the thoughts of those around them; he realizes something, that they'll never succeed in hiding their feelings for one another.

When they get back in the car he gets on his cell, despite the late hour on a weekend, and dials Alice. "You know what I need, huh?"

_"Yeah, but are you sure this is the best idea?"_

"I don't really have a choice."

_"But I was going to be your student next semester," _Alice whines.

"Text me the number."

Bella curiosity demands she join in, "What's going on."

"I need to make a phone call. We'll talk about it after."

"Oookay."

When the text comes in he quickly clicks the screen. Driving and texting are no real difficulty given his abilities. The number rings. Rings. Rings.

"This is Paul Greene."

"Principal Greene. This is Edward Cullen. Do you have a moment to talk?" Bella mouthes, _What are you doing?_

"Sure Edward, what can I do for you? First week go okay?"

"Beyond my expectations. But I have some bad news. There's been some family issues, and I need to tender my resignation, effective immediately."

Shocked silence emanates in the car, and over the phone. "If that's what you need to do, son. But I gotta tell you, you've put us in a tight spot. We opened that AP biology section just for you."

"I realize that, and I've made some preparations. If a substitute can make it through a week or two, I can find an adequate replacement. Is it alright if I email you with some details tomorrow?"

"That'd be fine. I hope whatever is going on with you turns out alright."

"I've no doubt it will, sir. Thanks." _Click. _He can't help but grin at Bella's disbelieving face, but before she can say a word about anything, he starts in on his second decision. "Bella, do you want to be with me? Will you let me get to know you? Spend time with you? Learn how to make you happy? Please?"

In spite of the startling past few minutes, she can only answer with a trademark blush and "Yes."

"Then I need to talk to your father."

* * *

A/N: I hope there is a correlation between how easy it was for me to write a chapter and how much y'all enjoy it. Rock on. Bonus points for anyone who can spot the biblical reference... maybe I could send you a portion of the next chapter. Put it in your review I guess.


	22. Family Planning

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The fledgling family flees Volterra under the cover of night for Esmeralda's first hunting trip. The excitement in her thoughts encroaches upon her face, and she's incapable of stifling her grin as she and Carlisle sprint, hand in hand, towards the nearest forest. Aedwaerth follows at an appropriate distance, beyond any line of sight and tracking them through their thoughts. The mountainous terrain provides the trio endless enjoyment as they vault over scree, sprint up slopes and careen down cliffs. Carlisle's thoughts are chaotic with the emotion of the moment, but when he smells a sounder of wild boar, he sets this aside, and they slow to a stop to collect the scent. Aedwaerth catches up in mere moments, and with hunting skills refined over the centuries, points them in the right direction.

"Don't think, Esmeralda. Simply hunt." Aedwaerth's instruction doesn't endear Esme to the unappealing aroma, but she's willing to try to ensnare the 'blond god' at her side. Stifling his urge to laugh, Aedwaerth ruffles his friend's hair and gently shoves his head saying, "Go."

Carlisle watches with awe as the creature at his side gaps him, closing in fast on the scattering, squealing razorbacks. He's absolutely aroused at the sight of Esme ferociously feasting, one of her hands levering a tusk and the other braced against the ground. He slows to a crawl as he takes in her crouched posture, his breathing accelerating to match hers, speeding from the frenzy of the hunt. Under normal circumstances, two relatively unacquainted vampires in such close proximity would be attempting to assert dominance, territorial natures inciting violence. Esmeralda is typically timid around men given her experiences with James, and her human husband before that, but she can't find it in herself to fear Carlisle; she feels nothing but interest and adoration. So when he tenderly gathers a rivulet of blood, tracing the red tendril from her chin to her lower lip and grazing the pink fullness with the back of his fingers, she isn't afraid. And when he puts his bloody hand into his mouth, with his unblinking and ardent gaze focused on her, she responds as she should: a kiss, and a quickly escalating embrace. Aedwaerth makes himself scarce.

With little appetite and no real knowledge of the surrounding area, Aedwaerth finds himself wandering back within Voterra's walls, strolling leisurely through a stone courtyard. At its center is an intricate three-tiered fountain, water plinking and plopping from one level to the next. Sitting around the edge is a young couple, perhaps no more than fifteen years old, obviously together without their parents approval. Their bodies are as close as clothes allow; their thoughts only on one another and their clandestine tryst. Aedwaerth's thoughts are, by turns, amused and annoyed. Until a deep well of loneliness bubbles up from within him, his pain accentuated by the mundane memories of his life. When he compares the thoughts emanating from Carlisle and Esmeralda to his own, he finds himself bereft.

When he turns away from the lovers, he sees Aro approaching him from across the square. They make eye contact, and Aro gestures for him to follow. A hundred feet ahead of him, Aro enters a small chapel and disappears behind a wooden door. Aedwaerth follows behind, maintaining his human facade for the few townsfolk milling about at midnight. Upon entering the small church, he sits down on a pew in the back opposite Aro, and says, "I've come to a decision."

"As I knew you would. You've a history of impressive decisiveness." As Aro says this, he hands Aedwaerth a parcel, a black and purple garment bound by gut-string; Aro is careful to guard his thoughts on the object. Removing the ties and unfolding the cloth reveals a Volturi robe, darkest grey trimmed in purple with gold stitching. Despite the quality of the clothing, Aedwaerth feels like he is being mocked. Aro quickly deciphers his facial expression and says, "Feel free not to wear it, but it should grant you some measure of protection and respect while on your tasks should you run into any... interlopers. I told the seamstress to take certain liberties in its creation simply because of your heritage. It's not often we receive royal guests willing to freelance for us."

"Very well. Thank you." Aro nods and after a few moments of silence moves to leave.

"Aro. I have a request." Aro's thoughts are amused and anxious as he reseats. "When these tasks have been completed, in all likelihood, we will be leaving. If she's amenable, we'd like Esmeralda to come with us."

"I suspected as much. She seemed quite taken with Carlisle." His thoughts show a brief encounter with the woman in question after she'd shown them the library. What Aedwaerth sees doesn't surprise him, instead it affirms his instincts in asking Aro for her release. "Esmeralda came to us frightened and untamed. She made it to Volterra without exposing herself to the humans, but only just. After the newborn bloodlust subsided somewhat, we offered her a place amongst the guard. But Aedwaerth, you've seen her... she's no fighter. She's our welcoming committee because she looks harmless, and she has a talent for making people feel welcome."

"I noticed that. I felt immediately comfortable around her."

"Yes. It's useful, but completely unnecessary. Truthfully, I'd be happy to have you take her off our hands. She doesn't belong here."

Aro can't quite hide his thoughts from Aedwaerth. So he knows that Aro is only acquiescent in order to procure Aedwaerth's cooperation, but that is Aro's supreme talent, controlling a situation while appearing to concede. Centuries later, Aedwaerth will wonder whether Machiavelli found a way to study Aro's masterful manipulative talents.

"I'll leave tomorrow and send word of our return with the guard."

"Excellent. Oh, and Aedwaerth," Aro rises from the time-worn wood and forebodes in a conversational tone, "From my memory of your transformation, you have an unusually high tolerance for pain." Aedwaerth knows so and affirms this. "You're going to need it." He sees in Aro's mind a second-hand image, grainy like a human memory, of a skinny blond girl, eyes alight with anger, watching as grown human man convulses in the dirt. Just before exiting the building Aro tosses a coin purse filled to the brim at Aedwaerth and demands, "Bring me the witch twins."

After leaving word for Carlisle, Aedwaerth begins to run. At top speed he can track the geological trends by simply glancing over the terrain. He wouldn't classify it in such terms, but the Earth's internal activity is obvious as mountains turn to valleys, plains return to foothills. During the day, he's careful to monitor minds that migrate through his consciousness while prowling through farmsteads and hiding amidst hedgerows. Avoiding notice is something that Aedwaerth does with deadly precision. He reaches the Skagerrak coastline before a full day has passed despite moving through sunny, populated areas the majority of his trek. Even though he's immune to the temperature, Aedwaerth isn't looking forward to his swim across this North Sea offshoot. Once he exits the water, he'll be bothered by the shrinkage: his deerskin will be less than comfortable or flexible. On top of that misfortune, he must deal with underwater navigational issues, the transport of his meager belongings, and the unfavorable sinking tendency; the transformation leaves vampire flesh quite dense.

He plunges into the icy water with little fanfare and, careful to keep the stars visible under a few feet of water, he rockets through the sea. The swim is lonely, cold, quiet and wet, and it reminds him of the younger years that are not too far behind him. He thinks, _This is what it was like to live as a murdere__r- like moving underwater. _Whether the taste justified his actions is an altogether different proposition, but he knows now that he can never go back. For one, the few moments he spent among the Volturi minds was enough to emphasize the simple and profound contrasts between Carlisle and himself, and the rest of their species. In addition, Carlisle's beliefs and unflagging discipline are daily challenges and despite his young age, only a decade and half in his new life, he seems beyond temptation. The few times Aedwaerth almost slipped in their alternative diet, he saw his friend's fierce golden gaze in his mind's eye, and it was a steely deterrent; the thought of disappointing Carlisle was unacceptable, and stayed his murderous desires.

By the time he's come within sight of the far shore, his mind has wandered into warmer areas, considering Carlisle's recent romantic rendezvous'. Having never witnessed a vampire discovering his mate, Aedwaerth is fascinated by the process; the attraction was instantaneous, completely mutual, intense and transformative. He wonders if there might be an imperative biological mechanism that initiates the evolution that took place between Carlisle and Esme. _They did seem to favor each other's scents..._ he thinks. He rises from the sea and jogs onto the shore under cover of a black night and he laughs as he considers what those two might have gotten into by the time he returns. _Amorous youngsters._It hasn't escaped his thoughts that the only two creatures he cares for are quite literally within an enemy den. Aedwaerth is cautious of Aro regardless of the ease of their negotiations, or perhaps because of it.

Tonsberg, the squalid coastal city that Jane and Alec call home, is Aedwaerth's next destination. He chooses to hunt before his arrival, careful to maintain his strength and focus on such a mission; he finds an aged Walrus several miles down the coast, well beyond the bounds of its typical habitat. The countryside is swaddled in moonlight, and the cold, crisp air is exhilarating as it presses against his skin and dries his clothes. Before long, he is approaching the outskirts of the fishing town, which has grown in recent years to become a hub for land and sea-based merchants peddling their wares in western Scandinavia. As he draws closer, the smell of a particular vampire pervades his senses. It must be the adolescent's keeper, an Etruscan who is younger than Carlisle, nevertheless highly placed within the guard: Demetri.

After a few minutes of surreptitious searching, Aedwaerth simply hunkers down and waits, removing the mental blocks within his mind that filter the onslaught of thousands of voices. Vampires' thought patterns are starkly different from humans. They have a unique essence that makes them easily identifiable to him. Their thoughts tend to run in multiple streams of semi-related consciousness, a vastly expanded intellect in regards to information absorption and application. On top of that, the assimilation of their senses gives them away easily. When it comes to vampires, they are mentally inferior in only one way that Aedwaerth can define: creativity. He has a theory that sleeping enhances human creativity and intuition in a profound, and as yet, inexplicable way, but brains must do their best work snoozing and subconscious. So it doesn't take long to pick out Demetri's expansive ruminations once Aedwaerth has subjected himself to the trivial prattling of the Tonsberg townsfolk.

He approaches slowly, mostly confident that the Volturi robes that he has donned will illuminate his place and purpose. When Demetri, looking absolutely apathetic nestled within the crook of a high branch, spots him, he promptly hops down and asks, "You're my relief? It's about time they called me back from this windy hell."

"Yes." He can tell that Demetri is beyond anxious to return to Volterra, based on his thoughts of a buxom blonde remembered in countless compromising positions. "Any advice on handling these two?"

"Don't look either of the little devils in the eye." With that warning in place, he nods and begins to run in the direction of the sea, despite the approaching dawn.

Aedwaerth shouts over the growing, wind-blown distance, "Tell Aro I'll be about a week." Demetri acknowledges him with upraised hand, but doesn't slow down. By the time Aedwaerth has finished pondering the young vampire's abruptness, Demetri is out of sight.

He begins to search for the two troublemakers, sifting through minds looking for their likeness or the thought of a name. Walking through the town, he spreads his other senses out like the fishing nets so frequently used in the nearby harbor. Without a conscious decision, he's found himself among the dilapidated buildings at the dock and he detects two young people sleeping in a particularly rancid hovel some distance from the next nearest inhabitance, the physical structure of the building rapidly failing. Their dreams, harmless children's fantasy filled with one another, give them away as Aedwaerth's wards: Jane and Alec. He enters the building and is surprised to find the pair wrapped in beggar's rags, spooning below a wholly inadequate blanket, both wheezing in their sleep from bad health. Looking closely, Aedwaerth doesn't have to imagine their frail, emaciated forms shivering from the frigid temperatures. He's not sure what he expected to find upon his arrival, but this surely isn't it. All the information he'd gathered on the 'witch twins' led him to believe that the two humans were dangerous and delinquent mortals, feared by their own kind and coveted by his. To find them starving, homeless, probably orphaned, and most likely miserable is surprising and sad. Laying his plush Volturi robe over the thin unfortunates, he sets off to remedy their situation in what small way he can.

When the dawn breaks, overcast and grey as it is, so does the silence and stillness on the fisherman's docks. Leaving the depressing duo, he wanders down to the dock, intent on procuring some food though it's a task he doesn't relish. The various types of fish, in various states of decay, are testing his gag reflex with startling regularity. Quickly perusing a few local minds, he makes an informed purchase of boiled seafood and bread with beer, and begins to make his way back towards Jane and Alec. When his senses converge on the shanty where they were sleeping he hears scuffling feet, Norse insults are being bandied about and he smells human blood; it's clear by the accompanying mental images and thoughts that the two children are taking a beating for the cloak he lent. As quickly as is advisable, he makes his way to the rotting room, discovering four older boys, nearly men, pummeling the twins with feet and fists, while a young woman watches with merciless mirth.

Without announcing his presence, he places the food safely aside and proceeds to decimate the attacking vagrants. In a matter of moments there are innumerable broken bones, battered joints and flesh-deep bruises, and all five of the filth are being bodily tossed out into the morning, cold and mostly clothes-less. Aedwaerth is careful to maintain the illusion of humanity, but he is ruthless and efficient in their disposal. He may not have a direct hand in their demise, but he'll do nothing further to forestall their deaths. Predation has costs, and the vile creatures outside have paid in Aedwaerth's currency.

The blood warms the far corner of the reeking room where Jane and Alec are huddled, confused by both the battering they received and the one they witnessed. Jane's baleful glare is a facial fixation for her and it means little to Aedwaerth since he can hear the awe and gratitude rattling around in her skull. Alec's emotionless features match his thoughts, save his concern for his sister. Blood leaks from abrasions on their face and hands, and it's clear that they've sustained some injuries where their tattered rags cover skin, but the combination of a walrus feast and seeing these two poor children battered has eradicated his bloodlust.

"I believe I owe you an apology," he begins in Norse. He's careful to catalogue their reactions, both physical and mental, for signs of fear or faith since he'll need some semblance of cooperation from them over the next few days. It takes very little time to procure a positive reaction. From the girl, it's accelerated breathing and dilated pupils, followed by a soft sigh, accompanied by innocent attraction for the handsome hero in her thoughts. Alec has puffed his chest out, and is considering ways he can impress the fighter in front of him. "I'm sorry they attacked you for the cloak."

In a strangely calm tone, Alec is quick to interject, "If it weren't for that, it'd be something else. Those assholes are always after us. There's too many of them to... And they always catch us while we're sleeping." He's thinking that his and Jane's gifts are both easily overwhelmed by numbers, and that their own pain disrupts their abilities.

Aedwaerth doesn't respond directly, instead he gathers the warmed, wool Volturi robe from the soiled floor and cleans it somewhat before tossing it to them. Then he makes his way to the goatskin wrapped food and the container of dark, bitter beer and slowly approaches the skittish teenagers. "I brought you some food and drink." In an attempt to gain their trust, he holds the sustenance at arm's length and waits for them to take it from his hands, like a man attempting to tame two wolf cubs; it's become apparent in his mental perusal of these two gifted kids that they are hardened in a way most battle tested warriors never attain. Their peculiarities have alienated them from their parents, their peers, and almost everyone else. It seems that the only people who have any interest in them at all aren't even people, really.

It doesn't take a full breath for Jane to reach across the gap between them and snatch the food. They examine the fare, and tuck in heartily, scarfing solids down with minimal mastication, and pulling deeply from the tankard. Aedwaerth watches in fascination as the substantial amount of victuals he purchased dwindle and disappear in a matter of minutes. The entirety of their meal is spent shooting furtive glances at the door, their minds focused on stealth and haste. Their lives, he is discovering, are fraught with difficulty and pain. It's difficult for Aedwaerth to know if he is doing them a service by sealing their fate, but existence as an undead can't be much worse than what he's already witnessed.

After their feeding is finished, "Why are you helping us?" It's Jane that speaks this time, with genuine hope.

"I've been sent here to protect you, take you from this place to another where you'll be given a new life. Does that interest you?"

"Where will you take us?" Alec speaks with a spark of curiosity this time.

"Italia."

"Anywhere is better than here," Jane is adamant and Alec is nodding hard. "But why are you doing this?"

"Because you are special, are you not?" They exchange a glance, and Aedwaerth continues, "We are, all three of us, special in our own way. And I will show you my skills, if you show me yours."

"Who are you?" Apprehension comes over them, even at the friendly face of a benevolent patron.

"Do not fear, children. I am Aedwaerth of Caledonia, and I'm on your side. Now, who wants new clothes?"

Careful to keep the two orphans in his sight, Aedwaerth goes about making preparations for their journey, purchasing appropriate attire and provisions. He makes pleasant conversation with the twins, hoping to assuage their fears and calm them despite the total upheaval of their reality. Because Aedwaerth knows that what small part he plays in the last days of their lives will have lasting effects: on all three of them. Unfortunately, their lives have been laced with cruel severity, and their maladaptive behavior makes them less than ideal company. Aedwaerth spends much of that first day with them, and he learns about their perilous gifts.

Alec's abilities are different from his sister's in one fundamental and important way: they are not inherently evil. With direct eye contact or physical touch, he can inhibit the senses somewhat. Alec can render a full grown man completely comatose with a firm grip on the face. The effects are mostly diminished when used on Aedwaerth; he was surprised and somewhat delighted to experience what could only be described as lethargy or sleepiness when Alec targeted him at his behest. Jane's gift, if her nefarious talent can be termed in such a way, is a foil to her brother's ability. With a glance or touch, she can make humans experience unparalleled agony that leaves no lasting mark, save upon the psyche. Like Alec, her abilities are less effective against Aedwaerth's immortality, but that doesn't stop his skin from crawling when she looks in his direction.

With no real need to hide his nature from them, the journey home takes six days. It's impossible to run full speed with one child in his arms and the other clinging to his back, but it would take the better part of a month to reach Volterra on horseback, so he tolerates whoops of pure joy that accompany his acceleration with aplomb, and is thankful that he can give them some fun before their lives are transformed. He'd like to impart some wisdom to the twins, but his comments sound trite even to himself. He stifles their curiosity with looks as loaded as their own, while doing his best not to frighten them, but he's no real interest in playing vampire tutor to the children, so their time together is spent mostly in taciturn silence, while Aedwaerth focuses on his remaining task. He's so mired in his own distracted thoughts that he doesn't even wish the twins well after arriving at Volterra. He simply walks them into a holding room within the underground castle, informs a guard of his arrival and goes to find Carlisle with nary a glance or word in their direction. The Volturi cloak twitches in their grip, and the twins are cold despite the thick wool that covers them. They will never be warm again.

Aedwaerth finds his companion cuddled comfortably in the library, crammed in a plush armchair with Esmeralda in his lap. They are so engrossed in each other and their chosen reading material that they don't notice Aedwaerth's approach. He would typically grant Carlisle privacy in such an intimate moment, but he can't escape the magnetic attraction between them. The joy he experiences at witnessing their love and innocent affection is enough to temporarily eliminate all of his worries. They inhabit a bubble where chaste touches are prone to escalation, where whispered declarations are compulsory and emphatic, but Carlisle catches his scent before he can attempt to avoid them. When he opens his mouth to make a joke and diffuse the situation, Esme slams into his chest and hugs him. "Thank you," she says, but in her mind she's expressing her gratitude with impressive eloquence. Aedwaerth is delighted with her reaction, and it's further proof that she belongs with them rather than passing as a Volturi lackey.

Aedwaerth grins at Carlisle, who looks close to tears, and tightens his arms around his new sister, daughter, mother. He can feel the bond between them strengthen through their embrace, and the three of them experience of surge of hope for their future together despite the dark task ahead. With a gentle squeeze, Aedwaerth releases Esme from the embrace and grabs her hand, leading her over to an entranced Carlisle, who completes the circle by grasping their free hands. With a deep sigh, Aedwaerth broaches an uncomfortable topic in light of their emotional reunion. "You know what we must do," his eyes slide between them, narrowed and resolute.

"Burn them." Carlisle's voice resonates with anger, and his mate and friend are shocked by the stone-cold hardness of his eyes. "Remove those vermin from the earth."

"Yes." Aedwaerth is slightly saddened by the loss of innocence they share, but the three of them know it's the only way to procure some peace. "And I have a plan."

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A/N: Thanks, as always, Stratan, my error eliminator. And thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. The response to the last chapter floored me. Rock on.


	23. Chemistry and Poison

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

After Edward makes clear his intentions to approach her father, utter silence shrouds the car. Edward isn't concerned by the clam-up since she's stated a couple of times that mindless chatter doesn't engage her, but there is a duality in the quiet, even as their two minds move through things. Edward is busy strategizing, planning for the equivocal encounters he's set in motion, content and comfortable. Bella is struggling to process everything she's experienced and discovered that relates to Edward, and it's not going well. Unbeknownst to him, Bella is fighting with age old insecurity, questioning her worthiness even in the face of facts. After a few tense moments, where tears threaten to track down her face, she pulls it together and trusts. Amidst her uncertainty, she moves a hand to the base of Edward's neck and begins to scratch through his soft, multihued hair. She can't help herself from asking, "Is that okay?" And though her voice is timid and terse, it breaks Edward's concentration like a clap of thunder. He's focused solely on her.

After a soft growl, which Bella silently categorizes as a purr, he says, "It is always _okay_ for you to touch me; in any way you see fit. I told you: I am yours." With her wrist so close to his mouth, and her fragrant aroma saturating the car, he decides it's prudent to crack a window. While he adjusts the airflow, Bella begins to formulate a response, reclaiming her brain from the mush he's made it.

"You're serious?" She says it like a statement, but her expression, it's clear that this is a question.

"Dead serious." They both smile, and Bella turns in her seat to place a hand on his outstretched arm, her fingers feeling his bicep flex for course corrections. Edward can feel her pulse stampeding against his stone exterior.

"Will you change me?" The direction of the conversation takes both of them off guard, and before he can stop himself, Edward has sucked in a lungful of air, and creased his forehead beyond what he thought possible. His eyes blacken with her implication, and the look on his face must be fearsome based on Bella's full body freeze.

"You don't waste any time, do you?" It's impossible to keep the disapproval from his voice, and neither of them like the way his censure sounds.

"I'm not asking you to bite me right now, but it's the logical outcome, right? Would you just... let this go after waiting so long?" Bella is struggling to reconcile the person he's waited for, the love of his very long life, with herself.

"It is, and always will be, your choice. But it won't be _anytime _soon."

"I know, I'm not ready for... that, specifically. But why not?"

"Do you really want to remain a teenager for all time? I hear they're moody and morose, prone to overreaction and acne." After hearing her laugh, he presses the case against her immediate change. "Besides, the logistics of life beyond the transformation with a teenage face are tricky. It's limiting in the extreme. I was changed at twenty-three, and that's nearly too young, these days. And Bella, don't you want the opportunity to become an adult, experience the full scope of your vitality?"

"I think it's safe to say that before today, it never crossed my mind."

"Then let us cross this subject no more, tonight."

The remainder of the car ride is smooth, quiet conversation contrasted with singeing skin to skin contact. Bella is hopelessly attracted, and of no mind to hold her hands back with his open-ended invitation unfurled, and Edward is intent on making up for lost time: centuries of it. He's hard pressed to describe the sensations that are ripping through him at her innocent but insistent exploration, but there's no masking his joy at her expression while she does these delicious, distracting things; the rapture on her face is enough to soothe every second of his loneliness. Though it's a close and heated battle of his self-control between pulling the car over for extra-curriculars and getting her home at a decent hour, the gentleman prevails. Before either of them are ready, he's pulling down the gravel drive to his family's home.

Bella's curfew is rapidly approaching, so Edward takes the remaining time to explain himself before she scurries home. He holds her hand and leans into the doorframe of her jalopy. "Bella, about your father. And my resignation. I'm trying to..." He finds himself at a loss for words for the first time in memory, so he swallows and starts again. "Honesty is very important me. If my abilities make lying impossible for others, shouldn't I extend the same courtesy where I can? Our existence makes certain lies and manipulations necessary, but I want to avoid as much of that as possible with you. Deception is a poison that I will not allow to taint our time together."

"You're right. I'm just scared. You don't know what Charlie will do. And neither do I, but I do know he's not gonna like this. One bit."

"I think I can deal with the Chief. Let your millenarian work his magic." He takes a slick, spare cell phone from his front pocket and slides it into her purse, then climbs into the car's cabin with her. "That's yours, but keep it quiet and out of sight for now." She begins to protest, but he places two fingers over her mouth before she can speak out against it. "I have to tell you one more thing, my love." Her expression softens at his endearment and evaporates when he pulls her into his lap, sandwiching her between the enormous steering wheel and his chest, her legs straddling his soldier's waist. "In the spirit of honesty, I would have you know my given name." His voice is a caress across her cheeks and she struggles to breathe, to hear his words. "I am Aedwaerth." The whispered syllables are music to her, and amidst her hormonal haze she vaguely grasps satisfaction at having this secret part of him. "Say it," he presses, wanting in more ways than he can count.

The name barely passes her lips before they are silenced and stolen by his. He's careful but crazed, and she's caving to his ardor. His hands pull at her hips, softness sliding against stone and igniting him at every point of contact. The delicate weight of her breasts rest against him as she pulls two handed at his hair, and Edward clutches at her curves, his sexual desire reanimated after so many dormant years. His lips move, unpracticed but perfect, against hers as their bodies learn one another. They both resist the almost indomitable urge to use the full length of the bench seat. When Bella invokes a deity, he pulls away, desperate for more but cognizant of two things: her responsibilities and his family's rapt attention. He places her in front of the steering wheel and croaks, "Go. Go now, before I won't let you." Then he cranks the engine, shuts her door, and retreats to the porch to watch her rumble down the driveway while his dead heart pulses in his chest, echoing Bella even in her departure.

Edward only enters the house when he hears the ancient Chevy transition onto the highway beyond their drive, and when he does, he finds the entire family waiting for him, ready to pounce on their beloved patriarch. He rolls his eyes dramatically, but is unable to stop his face from expressing his complete happiness. He hears them note this in their minds, seeing his bright, wide eyes, the constant flicker of a crooked smile, and the easy, relaxed posture that is unusual for him. They all wait for him to speak, but when he does, it's not what they expect.

"Are the wolves still waffling about our upcoming arrangement? Has anyone spoken to them recently?"

"The called the house a few days ago, looking to set up a meeting, but you were watching the human sleep. They said they'd only talk to you. And you've been too busy with the broad to call them back." Her sarcastic tone is usual, but the disregard for Bella rankles.

"She has a name, Rose." Edward brings the full force of his glare onto his youngest progeny.

"Whatever. Why are you making small-talk about the mongrels?"

The reasons behind Rosalie's attitude are obscure to Edward, but under his unrelenting gaze, he begins to piece the puzzle together. He grasps its entirety just before she masks her thoughts, but that particular cocktail of anger, jealousy and shame are not what he expected. Jasper and Edward both sense her turbulent and twisted emotions, but neither acknowledge the awkward moment. Instead, Edward softens his gaze toward the beautiful blonde and says, "We will talk about that later." With a smile he continues, "Why don't you go hunt and I'll find you in the forest?" Rose rushes from the room with an anguished expression. Edward stills Emmet when he moves to follow after, and continues with his earlier line of conversation. "I need to discuss my plans with you." Though it's unnecessary for them to take seats around the dining room table, they do so for the symbolism and the accompanying sense of camaraderie. Once they are seated, Edward presses on, "I've stumbled into a delicate situation here, haven't I?"

They all laugh, and Carlisle coughs out, "You're far too suave for stumbling, brother."

"Let's not get hung up on semantics, shall we? Especially since I have every intention of _stumbling_ over the rules at least once more. I'm going to have to tell her father."

Even though Alice knows, and has informed Jasper, the rest of the family is taken aback. Esme is quick to question, "Why? Can you not avoid his scrutiny?"

"I'm sure that I could, but the desire to keep him in the dark is gone. Let me try to explain. Bella is very young." Murmurs of agreement volley across the mahogany. "And it's clear to me through our conversation that she cares for him deeply. She still needs him in her life, and I will not take that from her. Which is exactly what I'd be doing if we hid from him." They take a moment to process this, then Edward continues, "Imagine it. He only knows me as her teacher, and there's a very strong teacher-student taboo, in this time and place. I doubt he'd ever warm to the idea, and we'd be forced to abandon Forks, with or without Bella." Everyone sitting around him flinches at his anguished expression as he considers the latter outcome.

Emmet pipes up with his effervescent humor, "Stronger than the human-vampire taboo?"

Edward's long suffering expression is matched by the majority of the table, but they're all silently amused; it's better not to encourage Emmet, lest he become unmanageable. "I'm hoping he's a reasonable man, Emmet, and he'll see that no one can be better for Bella."

Jasper is genuinely curious, "Do you really believe that?"

"I'd like to. I think it may be too late for both of us, regardless. I suppose what I'm telling you is that I won't lie to her, and she needs her father, so I won't lie to him, either. I owe it him, to her, to the human I was. If you feel you need to distance yourselves from this situation, I won't blame you. I'm treading a fine line, and I won't play with your lives without permission."

"Don't be foolish. Nothing bad will happen."

"I've involved the wolves, Alice. How would you know?"

"Because it's you. You always make it right." Alice's love for him as a father and protector has always clouded her judgment somewhat, but Edward is deeply affected by her words anyway. He reaches across the table and grasps her hand, giving her a brilliant smile.

"I could use everyone's help. Will you all stay?"

Five fierce affirmatives swamp what little anxiety had grown within Edward at the very real prospect of his separated family. Carlisle assuages his tiny fears further, "After everything we've been through, and all that you've done for us, how could you think that we would leave now. 'You're barking mad if you think we'd miss this.'"

Edward smiles at having his words hurled back at him after nearly six hundred years, and is caught up in the monumental emotion of having found his other half. "I'm glad. But I still didn't want to assume."

Emmet interjects, "And yet you made an ass of yourself, anyway. Now let's hear your plan already."

"You're all familiar with our acreage in Montana, near the Blackfoot river? The Chief is especially fond of fishing and good friends with Billy Black. If they agree to come, Carlisle and I will fly the Citation into Helena, and we'll spend a weekend working an agreement out with the wolves while we ease Charlie into our world."

"How do you think the shifters are going to react? Especially when they realize you're with Bella?" Jasper is one step ahead of the rest of the family.  
"I'm hoping full disclosure will be a sufficient show of goodwill. If I'm honest about it, and willing to inform them, they should realize my intentions are honorable. I'm not wild about the idea, but the alternative is probably war with the Quileutes, and I'd rather not destroy such a unique and precious group.

Jasper is skeptical of the idea, and further probes, "The wolves wouldn't even come here. What makes you think they'd be willing to board a jet, then cozy up around a campfire with the Chief."

"I think his presence will help, actually. They're worried about the safety of their elders, but with Charlie Swan in attendance, they'll be safer. We can't exactly kill a police chief without consequences. They'd know that." Edward grins mischievously. "And we won't exactly be camping, Major." Memories of the massive two-story log cabin are colored with a cozy fondness.

"Alright, I'll buy it. Alice, darlin', you see how it all works out?"

"No, Jazz. The shifters spoil _everything._"

Alice's martyred expression makes everyone chuckle, and it's clear to everyone that the meeting is adjourned when Edward leaves his seat, and flashes to the backdoor. As he breezes through the backyard, he says loud enough for the family to hear, "I'll be back. But let's begin making the arrangements now. File the flight plan, contact the caretaker, and I'll manage the rest."

Edward tracks the swiftly dissipating tendrils of Rose's scent through the forest near their home. When he's only a few feet into the dense greenery, he catches her mental voice, miles away and soft sounding. He has always felt responsible for the youngest Cullen and more prone to a parental role with her, mainly since she's the one who has had the largest need of it. The circumstances around her change are traumatic and tense, and they left her bereft, feeling hopeless and hardened, forever. So Edward has always had a soft spot for the tetchy beauty queen, given that her life hasn't turned out like she intended. Despite her disappointment, she's drawn her strength from within and learned to be happy in the face of tragedy. To Edward, her resilience and tenacity, combined with an unparalleled loyalty to her family, redeem her vanity and cruelty a thousand fold, which is why he's hastening towards her in the dark, dank, overly green Olympic forest: Rose, for all her faults and flaws, is his.

The closer he comes to her, the less sure he is about what he'll say, how he will approach the revelation of her jealousy, but when he sees her huddled posture, in such stark contrast to her normal regal bearing, his worries recede, and he's left wanting only to alleviate her hurt. When he comes to stand in front of her, it's clear that he'll have to initiate the conversation, if there is to be one. "I'm not sure I understand what this is about, Rose."

"It's just... why her? She's nothing special. You deserve... more." In her mind Rose is running over Bella's features, ruminating on her obvious inferiority.

Edward stops and listens intently to Rose's unspoken insecurities; Rose is attempting to come clean _and_ save face, which only serves to infuse humor into the whole situation. "Have you considered that she is everything I have ever wanted? Do my desires not warrant consideration? Empathy is not your strong suit, and I admire you for that, but at least try to place yourself in my shoes."

"Ugh. She's just so plain."

"No," he emphatically states. "She is most certainly not. But she is human. And barely a woman." He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, "Give her a chance, Rosalie. I doubt you will be disappointed. I'm not."

"I will try."

He hesitant to press the issue, but conflict among the Cullens festers without expedient action. He gently states, "The matter of your jealousy remains undisclosed."

The memories and emotion conjured at his statement are enough to bring them both to tears, if they could only cry. "You get a fresh start like Emmet and I had. And maybe you can have everything we couldn't."

"Oh, Rose. I'm so very sorry." Edward feels a fool for being so obtuse, and he pulls her into an embrace where she sobs against his shoulder until her husband arrives. When Emmet gets close to them, hugging under several hemlocks, intermittent rain creeping it's way through the canopy, he thinks at Edward, _I've got my work cut out for me tonight, huh?_

As Edward hands the distraught woman over to his burly brother, he says quietly in Rose's ear, "Bella will need you to guide her. As far as I know, you're the only human who ever loved a vampire and lived."

Emmet pipes in, "Good looking fellow, too; talk of the town." It's not enough break Rosalie out of her emotional reverie, but both men glimpse the ghost of a smile, and it's enough.

Edward takes time for a quick hunting trip, taxed after a full day encased in Bella's intoxicating scent. Not minding his direction, he proceeds into an unfamiliar area and encounters an entirely unpleasant scent; a noxious, fuming chemical reek signals the manufacture of methamphetamine. Then he hears the mental voices of the cooks, plotting their next distribution, and Edward isn't surprised to find that they've expanded into Forks. Nor is he stunned to learn that their primary target is the high school.

But the meth-heads stagger and seize when a malevolent force mangles their metal front door, and they are frozen in shock when it implodes and rips a hole straight through to the back of their hovel, catching one of their companions square in the torso, sending him careening around the room. Before entering, Edward hears the junkie's heart make one miniscule noise and go silent forever. With the electricity severed, his face is shrouded in darkness, so neither of the two remaining get a glimpse of him before he renders them unconscious with a finger-flick and trusses them up with some co-axial cable. It will be a while before they regain the wherewithal to wiggle against their restraints, but their struggles will be in vain, regardless; Edward's knot-making skills are rooted in his knowledge of hyperbolic geometry and quantum configuration space.

Utilizing his various chemistry degrees, Edward plays with the poison those fiends would have used to pollute other's bodies against them. The explosives he extracts are incendiary nightmares, a profusion of heat and light and violence that will eradicate the evidence of their existence entirely. When the unstable valence bonds begin to burn bright with oxygenation, Edward has already toted the two criminals some distance away. The explosion rends the air with a forceful shock wave even from the haven of several hundred yards. The flare is enough to leave a flash in his eyes and the heat crackles at the tissue of the two tweakers tied beside him. When he's confident that the fire-break he's furrowed will stop the flames from spreading to the adjacent forest, he makes his way toward the nearest police station, neither careful nor concerned about jostling the human cargo he has in either hand. After what seems like only moments, he deposits the unconscious criminals on the front step, who are loaded to the gills with their own incriminating drugs and vanishes unseen into the nearby forest.

He continues hunting, reclaiming his rationality from rage until dawn suffuses the ubiquitous cloud cover with faint light. Edward barely thinks beyond his body, scarcely leaves the comfort of his powerful stride, the slice of teeth through skin and fur, the comforting contraction of his throat around that soothing liquid. The one thing that reverberates in his mind, amidst the anger and astonishment at his actions, revolves around his own drug, that defenseless and fantastic human who has shattered every old paradigm in less than a week. It's clear to him now, and his thoughts run wild: _I would kill for her. I would die for her. I _will_ live for her. Every part of me, the monster and the man, needs her in every way. I love her._

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A/N: My email inbox exploded today. I'm not sure what's happening or why, but I like it. Apparently, you people do, too. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, the recommendations, and your continued readership.


	24. Endings and Mendings

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_The first time the king knew his son would become a skilled fighter__ was when he was __thirteen__ years old. __Without the boy's mother around, he'd been forced to pay more attention to Aedwaerth in __his younger years.__Despite__ his responsibilities as king__, __raising Aedwaerth__ was never a burden. __It had been, and was ever becoming the greatest joy of his life; seeing the unnaturally tall, copper-top wrestle and roughhouse, run and swim with his friends, fight with h__is rivals and posture like a man was rewarding in a way he couldn't have envisioned before the bi__rth of the caterwauling child. __Though the king would never admit it, the look of the boy, so like his dead mother__, played a great part in this. __Whenever the __king's glance lingered too long on the high cheekbones, the arrow-straight line of his nose, the full, almost girlish, pouty lips, and the green eyes, he'd find a way to excuse himself in order to grieve privately for his wife who left him behind._

_ His chi__ld's eyes always stuck him, ran him t__hrough with a specter's sword. __He can remember the first time he made love to her as his wife, in all likelihood whe__n Aedwaerth had been conceived.__ It was a blazing midday romp on a vista overlooking a large, unbroken__ tract of Caledonian forest. __After their considerable passion had abated, he'd been entranced by the color of her eyes, their hue just like the verdant highway stretched o__ut a thousand feet below them. __He had spent all afternoon unable to look away from __her beautiful gaze, all afternoon trying to make a baby, and they had._

_ But, like so many others before and after, the childbirth was brutal. In the end, it had been as simple and as complicated as one life exchanged for another. The king's wife and lover lay dead, and a mewling infant boy, with his mother's hair, face and eyes as a constant glaring reminder of his loss, rested in his arms, utterly reliant and helpless. He had done his best raising the boy, but feared he'd hardened him; robbed Aedwaerth of a carefree childhood. These thoughts plagued him until he noticed his son's unusual and tender interest in one of his best men's daughters. Aedwaerth favored a fair-skinned, dark-haired knockout that ran the boys her age ragged. The king couldn't help but chuckle at this, as his lovely wife possessed many of the same traits, and he knew exactly what this could mean for young Aedwaerth. _

_ The king became aware of his son's inner warrior on a spring day when t__he boy was thirteen years old. __While the youngsters sparred, the war-band's top lieutenants and teachers watched on, intent on imparting wisdo__m and skills to the next gener__ation of Caledonian warriors. A__n older boy, on break from the practice beatings, began to antagonize and m__ildly assault Aedwaerth's crush;__ his adolescent hands wandering w__hile whispering worldly words. __Before her father __could__interrupt and punish the overeager teen, the king __caught__ his son's wrathful green gaze, darkened bene__ath a furrowed brow and declared that__ the children__ be left fight their own battles. Across the yard, he heard__ his son's voice ring out, high and clear, la__den with warning and war. __The sixteen year old who'd had his hand __pinching a __pubescent ass-cheek, hardly took it seriously __considering from whence it came.__The boy pushed Aedwaerth's crush away, temporarily abandoning the pursuit of what he clearly saw as his, so that he could deal with the interruption that the king's son had caused. While he obviously did not expect much of a fight from Aedwaerth, as he got closer, it quickly became all too apparent that his actions will have consequences. _

_ Aedwaerth was a head shorter, outweighed by forty pounds and lacked three years __ of __expe__rience in hand to hand combat. __In the end, though, the men had to bodily remove Aedwaerth from atop the older boy, knuckles bloody and raw from pummeling his op__ponent. __He'd been quick, merciless, and brutal in beating the boy who'd touched his beloved, and everyone in battle training attendance that day swore they'd never witnessed such a one __sided whooping in their lives. __The king had his suspicions before, bu__t after that fateful fight__,__ he possessed one more piece of knowledge abo__ut his unusually gifted child: __Aedwaerth was dangerous when he had something to fight for._

Esmeralda, Carlisle, Aedwaerth and Felix leave Volterra without much fanfare. A simple farewell and good luck from Aro, and off they go, headed in the direction of James and Victoria's last known location. According to Aro, Kheti and his new coven have liberated a coastal estate in Norman France from wealthy aristocrats, and are using it as a combination slaughterhouse and antiquities dealership, amassing treasures and corpses in staggering amounts. Aedwaerth expects to retain the element of surprise, but he wants the other three members of his hunting party alert, and battle ready regardless. Therefore, they spend a slow few days traveling out from Tuscany, taking time each day for sparring and strategy. Since Carlisle and Aedwaerth are intimately familiar with each other's fighting styles, the foursome pair off naturally: Carlisle and Esme, Aedwaerth and Felix.

Felix's presence in the war-party is mandated by Aro, and it's clear by his utter silence that he'd rather be anywhere else. He's still quite sore over the public and humiliating beating he took at Aedwaerth's open palms, but since he has no choice in the matter, he's taken the stoic approach and focuses on his duty to the Volturi. Aedwaerth overhears this in Felix's mind, and puts together Aro's specific instructions to "make sure that, beyond any other outcome, Kheti becomes ash." Felix has always been a loyal soldier; in his human life, he was a member of the Byzantine army, the ancient Roman army's direct descendant. He'd reached the ripe age of twenty-five, quite old for a soldier of the times, and had attained accommodations and decorations aplenty; Felix was the highest ranking enlisted man out of nearly one hundred thousand soldiers scattered across the empire. These honors were not undeserved since, with a sword and shield, the man commanded murder.

In the year 917AD, after the Byzantine army's absolute destruction at the hands of Bulgarians in the Battle of Achelous, Felix staggered back home to Tuscany, one of only a few survivors of what had been a fifty-thousand strong force. Felix retired and was living a life without the constant clang of metal and might when Aro came across the warrior and changed him. Felix recognizes the irony of eternity as a soldier when his last human vocation was a butcher, and he'd beg off his duties after seven hundred years of service but for the blood. Even Aro knows that the true commander-in-chief of the Volturi is a viscous red liquid. He's thinking about all this when Aedwaerth says to him, "Look sharp, we need to spar."

"Like Hell." He's of no mind to be beaten again.

"If it makes you feel any better, you lasted longer than most pairs would have." Aedwaerth is chuckling quietly at the mountainous man, doing what he can to gingerly goad him into some friendly play-fighting.

Felix regards him with an incredulous look and, properly cowed, stands to face Aedwaerth saying, "If you slap me, even once, we're done."

"Fair enough." As they begin to test one another skills, the crack of boulders clacking together resounds throughout the arboreal forest. Carlisle and Esme are at it, too, though their testing often leads to tickling and tender digression. Since Felix isn't ticklish, Aedwaerth starts to offer advice, which Felix graciously accepts; he recognizes Aedwaerth, subconsciously, as his superior officer and unthinkingly falls in step with the marching orders. "Don't leave your feet until you must," he warns. "There are nerve buttons here, here and here," he gestures. "Pick apart their defenses with patience and observation. See the patterns," he advises.

After a few hours of half-pulled punches, Felix and Aedwaerth are fast friends, sharing war stories and back-slapping like two long-lost legionnaires. When Carlisle and Esme return from a quick hunt, they are surprised to find the pair laughing and cavorting like childhood acquaintances. Aedwaerth just winks at them, and gestures in the direction they need to be headed, saying, "Let's keep moving." He knows morale will deplete daily as they mull over the upcoming conflict, so he's eager despite their dual needs for caution and prudence. As they run in the direction of their adversaries, Felix tells the story of his army's last humiliation.

"The Bulgarians took a center-yield tactic. They placed the dregs and the mercenaries at the frontline in the middle formation so that when we attacked, the center would crack and falter, then fall back in on itself." For a big man, Felix is fairly demonstrative, all flailing hands and friendly smiles. "Convenient, since they'd placed their fiercest men on the flanking left wing. When we chased their center, the lines came apart and our army was practically formless. Just then they hit us. Cavalry came in on our left from an elevated position. Their left flank hit us dead on the opposite side, and that was it. Total chaos."

Aedwaerth sees something interesting in his mind and prods for an answer, "What was that? The white horse?"

"Eh? Oh yes, mind reader. I suppose you saw that. Not that I'm shy about telling it, but that particular beast belonged to Tsar Simeon, ruler of the first Bulgarian Empire. I killed his _prized_ white stallion, nearly slew him, too. Ugly bastard."

Even Esme is curious at this point. She inquires, "How did you get out with your life?"

"With great difficulty, mademoiselle. A group of thirty fought our way through to the sea, killed and cleaved until nightfall. We hid and ran and fought for the better part of a week before we found a boat that we could steal and handle ourselves, though at that point there, were only five of us left. Sailed twelve days and nights along the Black Sea coast before we found shelter. In the end, over forty-thousand Byzantine soldiers never came home." It's clear that he's done speaking on the subject.

They develop a routine of sorts, which they follow with military precision over their four day journey to the ocean. They spar twice a day, review the strategy behind their assault after each practice session, and hunt frequently in order to maintain their strength. As Aedwaerth leads them toward Normandy, he catches pieces of Esmeralda's sordid story. There's no specific trigger for it, but the memories of her time with James and Victoria keeps cropping up. Frightening flashes of violence fill her head full of fear and make her flinch. It's no surprise to Aedwaerth, considering the things he sees, that she's afraid; James and Victoria are villains, vile and loathsome creatures who lack self-control and empathy of any kind. He assumes this is true of Kheti, as well, but the ancient Egyptian doesn't reside in Esme's memories. The morning of their imminent arrival, Esmeralda is dwelling on the memory that riles her, that empowers her mind and body with hate and revulsion for those freaks.

Esme, like Aedwaerth's lost love, is blessed and cursed with a beautiful face and fine figure. Unfortunately, her comely looks caught James' abhorrent attentions. From what Aedwaerth can reconstruct, since she isn't exactly discussing the subject, is that James abducted her at the site of her attempted suicide. Her human memories are hazy, but the grief from the loss of a third infant child had become unbearable. Her casually abusive husband, an archer for the French army, was away fighting in the Hundred Years' War, and couldn't console her even if he were so inclined. She'd had no family, few friends and naught but a broken heart to keep her company. James found Esmeralda in the forest, over 100 feet into the upper branches of a tree, attempting to end her life. He'd coaxed her from the death pedestal with soft words and sweet sentiment, and Esme fell for the ruse in the emotion of the moment. Falling asleep in the arms of a murderer is the last pleasant human memory she retains, but it's tainted by the traumatic events that follow. She was raped, beaten and bled for days before she starts to die of hunger, thirst and internal injury.

Her strongest memory, one she's shared with Carlisle, is stuck on a loop in her thoughts. She remembers, with unusual clarity, James' final sadistic act; he taunts her with his wicked words, "Suicides go to Hell. Did you know? Personally, I'm not sure I believe in any of that shit, anymore." His gleaming grin is almost enough to distract from the lank, limp blond hair, grown from a permanently receded hairline, that's draping over his shoulder as he speaks.

It sounds, even in her memory, like she's talking underwater, "You are a devil. I hope you die." Her defiance impresses Aedwaerth, especially since at that moment, she was frightened and within an inch of death.

James smile sucks the breath out of her, but his words horrify her, haunt her to this day, "Yes, I am. And now it's your turn to burn. Welcome to Hell." He's careful when he bites her right wrist, sure to secrete as little venom as possible in order to prolong the progress of her transformation. Then he leaves her screaming and suffering in the depths of an old growth forest, her heart full of fear.

Aedwaerth clears his throat and tries to catch Esme's eye. When she avoids his subtle attempts at gaining her attention, he simply says her name and tells her, "We must talk once more before we fight." Though he's speaking in Esme's direction and has his eyes on her, it's clear that he intends to include the whole hunting party. When they slow to a stop, it's within sight of the coast, and the four of them can smell the slight salt and feel it tinge the softer scents of forest and earth.

"What is it, fearless leader?" Felix is quick to tease Aedwaerth for his intensity.

"Esme, you may not like this, but you will listen and obey, anyway. Do not leave Carlisle's side." When he hears her start to argue, he interrupts and persists, "If not for your sake, do it for mine. And Carlisle's. Our skills will suffer if we're afraid for you." And he smiles softly at her as she silently acquiesces, while Carlisle whispers "Thank you" into the silken strands covering her ear. "Remember what we spoke about these last few days right now. Go over these things in your mind." Aedwaerth listens to them do just that for only moments before continuing, "We're ready." They move quickly toward the semi-distant shoreline, leaping and scrambling over the low lying scrub foliage, until their bare feet find the sand. Each step toward the water feels like the chord preceding the resolution, each stride feels further from a finale than the first. Before they sink below the surface of the briny waves, he leaves them with one last piece of advice, a dark doxology that sends a shiver down their spine, "Do not speak, do not blink. Stare your enemy in the eyes and think of ways to kill him. Then make it so." They swim out beyond the wavebreak and allow their stone bodies to sink to the bottom. Moving east toward their target, parallel to the shore, Aedwaerth marks the miles with infrequent peeks above the dark water.

Part of his superlative strategic skills are the unintentionally creative tactics he uses. After swimming through the waters between Denmark and Norway on his trek toward the twins, he'd realized that the liquid completely concealed the scent of the air beyond it. If he inhaled the water, unpleasant but possible, he could catch the scents of a variety of underwater unknowns, but nothing beyond the transitional boundary between sky and sea. This is the method that Aedwaerth and his companions use to come as close as possible to their enemy without detection. Under the protective scent-shield of the North Atlantic Ocean, they've come within a scant quarter-mile of the enemy beachfront estate. Aedwaerth sits on the ocean floor, every sense shut down save for his telepathy, sifting through the minds of the three vampires lounging about in the mansion built above the beach. Their presence pleases him, and after several minutes of surveillance he's sure they're unaware of the danger lurking in the murky waters beyond their backdoor. His simple plan is playing out without a hitch.

Like most pivotal moments in his life, Aedwaerth, in a moment of introspection, finds a contrast between himself and his surroundings. Despite his mental preparation for the potential fight of his life, he feels a strange ambivalence amidst the muffled, rhythmic whoosh of the waves overhead and eerie stillness of the water encasing him. Even Esme's mind is focused and free of fear, composed and collected; Aedwaerth can almost taste her faith in Carlisle, who is confident, calm and constantly by her side. Felix is businesslike, set on the task ahead of him, on bringing his strength to bear free of emotion. But Aedwaerth is conflicted, decidedly unsettled for a veteran; aside from being unable to repress his anger at being forced into fighting, he's weary and worn out from it. He'd been sure this part of his life was behind him, that he'd buried the beast within him bent on destruction, but he can feel his insides fight, like an enraged animal batting at the bars of his cage.

What he wants in this moment is impossible. Aedwaerth wishes himself and his family free of threats and beyond the need for violence, but he knows that the door to the future he desires is guarded by three treacherous savages. He must end them in order to move forward; thinking he's sure of what he must do, he motions them forward. Gradually and silently, they make their way into shallower water before reaching the beach.

Careful to remain as silent as possible, they climb the gentle hill that leads to the back of the sprawling two-story chateau, perched on all four limbs like half-arachnids. When they reach the structure, they press themselves to the side of the building and proceed according to plan. Using prearranged hand signals, Aedwaerth places the location of their adversaries: Kheti is flipping pages on the first floor, while James and Victoria have sex on the second. Felix thinks, while grinning ear-to-ear, at Aedwaerth, _Talk about b__eing caught with your pants down_. He acknowledges Felix by mouthing, _Kheti is mine_.

They break formation in a flurry of motion and noise, which alerts all vampires to an impending attack. Aedwaerth can hear the surprise in their minds at something supernatural sneaking so close without their knowledge. Meanwhile, Carlisle, Esme and Felix vault themselves into several second story windows, just as Aedwaerth annihilates the exterior wall that separates him from his Egyptian foe. Kheti, all intense snarl and surprise, is frozen in shock at the sight of soaking-wet Aedwaerth crashing through his house. Wasting no time on words or warning, he attacks without hesitation.

Since it's hard to fight without a head, Aedwaerth is careful to protect his neck by holding his hands up; it may look like he's fist fighting, but it's a preventative measure meant to curtail the possibility of decapitation. It's a technique which Kheti doesn't employ, much to his detriment. Kheti is so surprised by the sudden onslaught of a stronger, faster vampire bent on righteous retribution, that he has little time to mount any defense before Aedwaerth is on him. Aedwaerth catches him, hands around a skinny, pallid neck, and pushes him past and through the wall at his back and into the open air.

He'd expected more of a fight from the world-weary ancient, but Kheti, outmatched in size and strength, is scrabbling ineffectually as Aedwaerth presses him into immobility. Kheti's knees and feet catch Aedwaerth in the torso and thighs, even once in the groin, but he doesn't let go, riding the blows out above a bucking and panicked vampire. Moving a knee to Kheti's chest, Aedwaerth removes one hand from his neck and pummels his head, feeling stone skin splinter and crack with the force of his blow. Summoning the skills of his youth, Aedwaerth continues to pound away at a specific spot, and after a few blows, he feels the telltale crunch of the skull give way. Kheti's mental agony and anger momentarily vanish as his consciousness flickers and his brain sends a signal to his spine to seize. His enemy prone and defenseless below him, Aedwaerth removes his wrecked head, and the sickening pop of his spine as it is severed turns his stomach. The easy victory feels all wrong.

Not wasting a moment on contemplation, Aedwaerth grabs Kheti's disembodied head and begins to make sense of the chaos on the second floor. Rather than arrive by stairs, Aedwaerth simply measures his strength and jumps through the ceiling above him, landing gracefully beside the man shaped hole he's made. Looking and listening, he makes his way toward the sounds of conflict. When he breaches the master bedroom wall, he finds the five vampires at a standstill, threats and invective resound as Aedwaerth examines the hostage situation. Felix holds Victoria's head between his massive hands, hovering her above the ground, and pressing his teeth to her neck. James has Carlisle in a similar position, and suddenly Aedwaerth's mind is balanced on a knife's edge, restraint on one side, ruin on the other. Esme is struggling with a similar sentiment, all but hysterical with the threat to her mate.

"Stop. Right now." Aedwaerth's voice is cold steel slid between their ribs, and they obey. "Felix, put her down and remove your teeth." When he hesitates, Aedwaerth orders, "Now!" With Victoria's feet firmly on the ground and the teeth marks on her neck quickly receding, Aedwaerth turns to James, who recognizes him immediately. He says softly, "James. Do you want to live beyond this day?" Not waiting to hear a verbalized affirmative, he assures the skittish man, "If you do not put him down, you will surely die by my hand." He holds up Kheti's head, "Do you doubt that I can do it? Let him go, and you will walk out of here alive. You have my word."

"Felix, let the woman go." He does so reluctantly, and they watch as the red-headed demon flees the fight, naked and whimpering. James is distraught and momentarily distracted by her departure, Aedwaerth takes advantage by hurtling Kheti's severed head at him at several hundred miles per hour. The projectile strikes James in the side of his head, and the impact dislodges his hold on Carlisle, who scrambles away as Aedwaerth rushes forward. James is attempting to jump out the window after Victoria when Aedwaerth catches him by an ankle and yanks him back into the room. The position is unfortunately intimate, but Aedwaerth pins him to the floor on his stomach and wraps a rippling arm around James' neck. His mouth is right by James' ear when he says, "Seems young Victoria doesn't have much consideration for you. Maybe you're a terrible lover. I could find out." It's an empty threat, but James doesn't know it, and a shot of horror slithers through his mind. When Aedwaerth rams a knee into his nethers, all of his thoughts focus on the ball-splitting pain. "It'd be no less than you deserve, you miserable fuck. I want you to apologize to Esmeralda. I'll know if you're lying." James does so, the picture of sweet sincerity, though his mind is full of vitriol and venom. Aedwaerth gestures toward Felix and says, "Hold him." While Felix holds his arms and legs immobile, Aedwaerth stands him up and brings James' eyes level with his own, "If I ever see you again, I will kill you and your mate. Never return to England, and do not ever come back here. If you catch wind of our whereabouts, run in the opposite direction. If I smell your foul stench ever again, I will hunt you and torture you before I burn you. Do you understand?" Aedwaerth is quite sure that he does, that he's recognized this threat as a permanent promise. "Now, something to remember me by." He glances at Felix, careful to ignore the startled looks on Carlisle and Esme's faces, and says, "Hold him fast."

Aedwaerth presses a finger into the corner of James' left eye, pushing past several fibrous membranes and into the space behind. With a come-hither crook of his finger, he jerks his hand out from inside James, pulling apart the vampire's vision. As James' wails in pain and fear, Aedwaerth obliterates the white eye in his hand, abhorring the feel of venom soaked tissue crushed into sludge. He informs, "If you ever see me again, it will be the last thing you see." The promise is enough to send him staggering out the second story window, sprinting on unsteady legs after his traitorous mate. Before he bounds out of sight and beyond Aedwaerth's telepathic abilities, he turns a baleful eye upon his former home and his thoughts promise vengeance.

Aedwaerth has the sudden urge to bathe in the ocean, but holds fast when he hears the thoughts around him. Felix is the first to speak up, "You let them go."

"You listened," Aedwaerth accuses.

"I won't be able to avoid Aro. He'll know that the lawbreakers are still alive and free."

"Then go after them yourself. Aro knows that I am not a guard member. His lap-dogs can take care of those two at any time he wishes. But I'm done. No more contract killing. Kheti was Aro's primary target, regardless." He walks over to the head and hands it to Felix. "Take this to your master. Give him my regards." With that, Felix is dismissed, and he works his way through the rubble as he bids them farewell.

When the three of them are alone, Aedwaerth turns toward Carlisle and encompasses him in a hug. Carlisle stiffens at the embrace, and then clings tightly in the relief of the moment. "I'll want to know what precipitated my arrival, later. But right now, I'm too glad for your life, friend."

"Aedwaerth." Esmeralda's soft voice is accompanied by her hand on his forearm, and her touch feels completely unfamiliar, but pleasant. He imagines it's a motherly gesture, meant to comfort and connect in an innocent way. "Thank you for saving Carlisle. I cannot... thank you enough." Aedwaerth places his rattled companion into the arms of his lover, feeling intensely protective of the two young vampires by his side.

"No thanks necessary. We won't see James or Victoria again," he tells them. "And unless they have some skills in avoidance, I think the Volturi will probably see them punished before too long." He breathes in deep, as if the oxygen can purge the violence from his mind. "I see them now for what they are: slaves to the blood, like I once was. Let us be satisfied, and think of this no more. Our troubles here are ended."

They realize the truth of his words gradually, as their experience meshes with reality. The awakening sparks joy and hope within them, and they come to terms with their freedom from fear and fighting. Smiles split their faces and laughter erupts, a physical manifestation of their effervescent happiness. Night falls on the family of three as they enjoy the ocean, trouncing around in the surf, laughing and loving life. When the witching hour arrives, they prepare the beachfront property for burning, and then light it afire under the watchful eye of a nearly full moon. As the flames burn high into the night, Aedwaerth begins to ponder their future, what they will do and where they will go, etc. All of the possibilities are pleasant, so he poses the question to Carlisle and Esme, who are necking enthusiastically. When they catch their breath, Esme is quick to answer, "I've always wanted to see Paris."

Carlisle and Aedwaerth, quick to appease the beautiful woman who's brought love and light into their lives, agree without hesitation. They spend a little over a year traveling throughout the beautiful French countryside with Esme as their guide as she learns to manage her bloodlust. They are moving through eastern France in their final approach toward Paris when Aedwaerth accidentally alters history. Drawn in by her unusual mind, he meets a fourteen year old girl named Jeanne d'Arc.

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A/N: Special thanks to Stratan and Jenn0179, who prepared this chapter for mass consumption. If you're looking for a sweet new story, you can read anything that Jenny has written and you'll enjoy it. While You Were Gone is especially cool.

I also wanted to thank Sebastien Robichaud for recommending this story and all the new readers who came at his behest. Rock on.

Did anyone catch the homage to my favorite bald man?


	25. The Calm

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Monday morning finds Edward fiddling with his phone incessantly. Typically, technology enthralls him and instills an aching need to know every nuance. Despite the tendency toward complication it creates in retaining the secret of their existence, Edward genuinely enjoys utilizing its aspects. However, this morning, after over twenty-four hours without word from Bella, he is cursing his hand-held device, pleading with the screen to show him _something_. Unfortunately for him, his needs will go unheeded for at least a few more hours since Bella is unusually reluctant to use the cell, despite Edward's request that she do so at any whim. Even so, the encrypted and untraceable device is burning a hole in her pocket, like she can feel an electronic pulsing through the layers of denim at her leg. When she takes the time to send him a quick text at the beginning of her lunch hour, Edward is cleaning out his corner of the science department's communal office at Forks High.

Feeling his phone's faint vibration, he removes it from his pocket and reads, _Ca__n you come over after classes? Charlie's working a double._Avoiding the curious glances from his former colleagues, he collects the single cardboard box containing his teaching props, and approaches the cafeteria. On his way, he sends a reply: _Certainly. Can I cook for you? _When Edward gets close enough to catch a glimpse of Bella, he surreptitiously scans her face, certain that no children can see his adoring gaze. He's keen to observe the minds around him in order to avoid detection, but when Bella receives his message, he is too distracted to do much beyond watch her. As she reads, her body tells the story of a happy human heart. Her face lights up, her cheeks pink with delight, and a wide, white smile catches the attention of her tablemates. She may have hidden the phone beneath the table, but she can't conceal her obvious reaction from Edward, who's invigorated by the sound of her heart accelerating in excitement. His earlier agitation vanishes as he watches Bella unblinkingly, and her simple proximity eases the ache in his heart.

After only several more seconds of spying, Edward decides it's wise to move on before he's discovered staring at a student. After a trip to the front office for a quick conversation with Principal Green, and a formalized and documented resignation process, Edward vacates the building for the last time. As he slips into the R8, his phone vibrates with a second text: _You can cook? I'm not sure I like venison. _He wastes no time sending a response: _I can do a great many things, beautiful. How does Italian sound?_Suddenly, sitting in the teacher parking lot behind the high school, waiting on a single text sounds like a superb idea. Seven minutes later, her response comes through: _Good. __See you after school?_ Edward is perfectly honest in his reply when he sends, _It's not soon enough._

Edward is familiar with an interesting bit of relationship wisdom that the power in any pairing lies with the person who cares the least. In this regard, Edward is happy to cede any upper hand he has to Bella, given that there is very little equality between them. Edward is sure that his love for her runs deeper for the moment, if for no other reason than his immense age and anticipation, but she is young and unsure while he is wise and confident. Bella's body is relatively frail and weak, while Edward is almost indestructible. Add his allure, and freakish perfection, and his beloved's disadvantages become nearly unbearable to him. Edward is already hopelessly devoted, but he's worried about the repercussions of their differences.

These inequities have weighed heavily on his heart, and he fears the intractability of the situation_._ For Edward, it boils down to a single burning question, one which has clawed him in his darkest moments: _Can she love me like I am?_ His only course of action, as it occurs to him, is to grant Bella every measure of control in their interactions, and to make sure she knows she's in charge, thereby tipping those scales into some semblance of balance between them. It's the most frightening proposition of his entire life, laying himself bare before the only person with the power to destroy him, but he can't seem to muster any fear; he's far too excited to flaunt his culinary expertise.

Several hours later, Bella barges in her front door to find Edward camped out in the kitchen, hovering over the stove, slowly stirring a simmering red sauce. Bella's expression is undeniably incredulous and confused. She meant to ask something different, but the question that comes out is a little harsh, "How did you get in here?"

"It would be prudent to lock your bedroom window in the future."

"You broke into the Police Chief's house, and you're talking to me about prudence? Are you sure you're sane? I mean, sixteen hundred years is a long time to hold it together."

Edward stalks towards her with a guilty grin, "I'll admit I'm a little crazy. Crazy 'bout you, babe." The endearment sounds unnatural to his ears, but it has his desired effect; Bella promptly blushes, giggles and changes the subject. He holds the sauce spoon up to her mouth and silently begs her to taste his concoction. She does, and her satisfied sounds fire desire down all of his extremities. Instead of tossing her on the kitchen table and staking his claim, he smiles beatifically, content to have her close and conversing.

"You realize it's not even close to dinner time, right? I just ate lunch a couple of hours ago, and I'm not really hungry." Edward takes her hand and brings it to his mouth, placing several kisses along her wrist.

"I'm aware. But this particular recipe requires several hours of preparation. I wouldn't know from personal experience, but I've been told that cooking something slowly releases the flavors fully. Supposedly, it's quite tasty."

"You're slow-cooking sauce in my kitchen." She shakes her head slightly, then points a finger at him, "Don't. Move. I'll be right back."

In her absence, Edward busies himself with the preparation of her dinner, making sure they'll have time to talk. When she returns, he is blown away by Bella's simple and subtle beauty. She stands at the bottom of the foot-worn stairs, looking like a goddess. She's released her hair from the confines of a ponytail, and the fading afternoon light slips through the slats in the blinds behind her, illuminating her dark tresses. His scrutiny seems unwelcome, though, and he's chagrinned when she scolds, "Stop looking at me like that."

"Why should I? You're beautiful, captivating. I couldn't stop if I tried."

Bella hesitates, and then says with quiet certainty, "It's too much."

"So I'm coming on too strong, then."

"No, it's not that. I..."

"Tell me what you're thinking, before I actually go mad."

"You really want to know what's going on up here?" she gestures to her head. "It's not a very inviting place."

"Your thoughts are your own. I only want to know you." He doesn't add, _in every way. _

"I'm being stupid, I guess. It just seems too good to be true. I have this supernatural stud suddenly in love with me." She slaps her lips shut at this admission, and her face shows outright astonishment. Edward gestures for her to continue with slight nod and the sweetest smile he can manage. "I've been thinking since Saturday. It took time to process."

Edward can't stop the concern from crawling all over his face, contorting his formerly happy features. "I didn't exactly ease you into this. I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be. I needed to know, and I'm happy with how _everything_ has happened between us. I'm just not used to feeling this way."

Edward was nearing a panicked state at the direction of their conversation. Where Bella is concerned, he has a tendency to fear the worst and find flaws their situation and in himself where there are none. It's a product of his inexperience in all matters of the heart. He's seen three separate couples fall in love in front of his eyes, and in his mind, but seeing something, and living love are two starkly different propositions. He comes to this realization as Bella speaks, and he is comforted by the knowledge that in this regard, at least, they are on equal footing. So he tells her, "Neither am I. I don't know if I made this clear before, Bella, but I've never had any remotely romantic feelings before. We are both feeling 'this way' for the first time. But I was prepared for you in a way that you couldn't be."

"What do you mean," she interrupts.

"I've been waiting for you, my love. For so long." At his admission, Edward can feel the full effect Bella has had on him in the short week he's known her. He can't help but pull her close, bury his face in the thickness of her hair, and revel in the electric sensation of her skin against him. "You're probably not ready to hear this, but I'm _am_ in love with you."

"I know." And the tender, intense moment is eradicated with her playful, shy statement.

"Oh, do you?" They are both grinning, clutching one another in an emphatic embrace.

"It's not exactly a state secret. I knew what 'm cara meant after the first time you said it." At his inquisitive look, she comments, "The internet is an amazing thing. Why Welsh?"

"It has an important place in my mind. It was the first language I learned to read and write, along with Latin."

"Not Caledonian?"

"We didn't have a written language. At the time, most languages, like mine, used symbols for places and people when necessary. Life was simpler, slower then. We had no real need for most knowledge."

"Will you teach me to speak it?" He almost doesn't catch the question with her hands tracing indeterminate patterns on his back. When he processes her request, it eases any doubts that he might've had about Bella wanting to belong to him. Only his mate could match his desires so effortlessly.

"I would love to teach you. But before I continue to cook your dinner, I'd like to make a deal with you." Bella tells him to go ahead, slightly wary but curious about his request. "Promise me that you'll tell me if this becomes too much." It's clear to her that he's referring to their burgeoning relationship. "I want you to set the pace." Edward grins at her and says, "I march to the beat of your drum, darling."

"You're kinda lame, you know?" She may have vaguely insulted him, but she's blushing and beautiful and squeezing her arms around him as tightly as possible.

"I apologize if I'm not hip with the lingo, yo."

Bella busts out a full blown belly-laugh before she catches her breath and informs, "That sounded so wrong."

"I'm aware. Try to understand that I've spent the majority of the last three hundred years as a graduate student or the time period's equivalent. Slang isn't exactly a strong suit for career academics."

Bella looks at him with a stunned look on her face. "You've spent three hundred years going to school?"

"What? I like to learn." Their banter continues as Bella begs to help him cook her dinner, complaining that she should help if he's not even going to eat, and Edward is more than happy to have her by his side. In the heat of the kitchen, with the stove and oven burning, Bella's scent is intoxicating, as it's intensified by the slight sheen of sweat that's accumulated across her exposed skin. He feels like he's in tidal lock, his pale face forever focused in her direction as she flutters about the kitchen. Standing in her home is serene, but watching Bella in her element is enough to enthrall him; it's clear her comfort level here has relaxed her enough to relieve whatever tension she'd felt around him before. Her smiles come quicker and easier, her wit and sarcasm simultaneously more biting and playful. What's best for Edward is her easy affection. She's not hesitant to touch and tease, and it's brought Edward to the brink of his control, to the very edge of desire.

After the meal, which leaves Bella suitably impressed with his cooking skills, Edward insists that she complete her homework. Bella does so without complaint, but only after her equally fervent insistence on his continued company and assistance. Twilight finds them on her twin bed, Edward's back against the headboard, Bella's back against him as she attempts to read through her English assignment. This task is difficult for her, considering his hands in her hair, and an occasional cool breath on her neck. While she pretends to plow through _Things Fall Apart_, Edward braids her hair, twisting and twining the soft strands in complicated patterns. He is mesmerized by the feel of her hair slipping over and through his fingers, but it doesn't detract him from the task. By the time he is finished, only a few moments remain before Charlie returns.

Bella stands, and makes her way to a small mirror above her desk. Gathering the varied plaits in her hands, she turns to Edward and says, "It's beautiful. Where did you learn to do this?"

"I'm not sure. It must be some remnant of my human life."

"I've never seen anything like it. Thank you."

"You're most welcome. Your father will be home soon, so I must go."

Disappointment is evident on both of their faces. "When will I see you?"

"You still have the phone I gave you? Please call me anytime, day or night, and I will come to you. We can designate it the bat-phone."

After a laugh, "Where will you be this weekend?"

"I'm taking your father fishing."

"Oh yeah? There are some pretty good spots around here, or so he says."

"In Montana."

"For the weekend? That's kind of a long drive for just a few days. I've gotta warn you, Charlie isn't great road-trip material. Real quiet guy."

"Bella, my family owns a rather large and extremely fast jet airplane. Billy Black and Harry Clearwater are coming along to keep him company, as well. Unfortunately, your father is turning onto your street as we speak so, I really must go. Call me later, and I'll tell you all about it. Don't mention it to him yet, alright?" After a quick but intense kiss, Edward opens the window to Bella's second story bedroom and backs up a few feet. Intent on teasing her, he wink, blows a kiss and says, "Wish me luck!"

Leaving his beloved with a startled look on her face, he crow-hops and then swan-dives out the window, flipping upright only a few feet from the ground. Before Bella can catch her breath at the strange sight, he has broken into a full sprint and vanished into the forest behind her home.

The rest of the week gets neatly packaged away, time flying by in interesting increments. Between convincing the Quileute elders to get on a private plane with Edward and Carlisle as pilot and copilot and stealing secret moments with Bella when Chief Swan is absent or otherwise occupied, planning their weekend excursion has left Edward with little time to himself. Ultimately, the plan comes together with startling efficiency. Even Edward's phone call to Charlie Swan is unnervingly easy.

Edward dials the phone number smoothly, but he _feels_ like his fingers should shake. He considers hanging up after the second ring, but gathers the courage to persevere. Chief Swan answers with a gruff, "Hello."

"Chief Swan, this is Edward Cullen. Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Sure. You're Carlisle's younger brother, right?"

Edward laughs and says, "Something like that. Listen, I've got a proposition for you. Any plans this weekend?"

"Well, a friend told me to clear my schedule. So yeah, I may be busy."

"Would that friend be Billy Black or Harry Clearwater?"

"Uh, yeah, actually. How'd you know that? What's this about?" Apparently the Chief is in a good mood, because he's laughing through both of his questions.

"Well, I've invited the two of them, and some younger men from the reservation to go fly-fishing this weekend with me and Carlisle. We've got a cabin in Montana near the Blackfoot river. It's coming down to the end of trout season, and we'd like to make the trip one more time. There's more than enough room on the plane if you'd like to tag along."

The Chief laughs and snorts before responding, "Let me come clean, Eddie. Billy told me all about it. I didn't quite believe it until just now. I've pulled my fly rod out of storage and taken Friday off. I'm normally not one to inflict myself on anybody, but I wouldn't miss this for the world. I've got just one question."

"Go right ahead." Nervousness does not agree with Edward.

"Why did I get an invite? Other than my obvious affinity for fishing."

Phone conversations have never been Edward's strong suit, since he relies so heavily on his abilities, so he opts for candor, "I tell you what, Chief. You come along, and I'll tell you while we're on the river."

"Sounds like a fair deal. Thanks for including me. How do I..."

"Meet us after your shift on Thursday at the Port Angeles airport. The private flights entrance." They exchange numbers in case of unexpected changes in the plan; Alice predicts good weather, but she's not infallible or foolproof.

The Chief, chuckling heartily, ends the phone call with a curt, "Until Thursday." After Edward hangs up, he's startled by the ease with which Charlie Swan acquiesced. He wonders what extent Billy Black went to procure such a complete agreement.

Perhaps the man is smitten with the serenity that suffuses each brisk morning he ventures onto some small body of water to cast and reel and catch. Edward wouldn't be surprised if this is the case, considering it's the reason he and Carlisle purchased the Montana property in the first place. They spent a sizable portion of their savings on the estate, a twenty-five thousand acre tract of hill-country, with a large trout-filled river, and two tributaries that feed a variety of wildlife. They've owned the ranch for nearly one hundred years, and they frequent it as often as they dare for the scenic tranquility; this particular home is their vampire fortitude, a continental castle that creates a buffer between them and the scant smatterings of humanity that reside nearby. Even though they have no feeding interest in cold-blooded fish, Edward, Emmet and Carlisle have always found the motion of casting a fly-rod to be soothing, and genuinely entertaining. Since their Montana home is remote and isolated, they can visit as often as they like to get their fishing fix. That the property has a plethora of tasty predators is simply a bonus for both of them.

Thursday evening come quickly enough, and as Alice predicts, the weather cooperates well enough for Edward's purposes. After fueling and preparing the plane for departure, he and Carlisle wait patiently for the Wolves and the accompanying elders to arrive. When the Quileute caravan shows, carrying three oversized almost-adolescents and two older men, they walk calmly over to their car. When they near, the shifter in charge, Sam Uley, puts his hand up palm out and sternly says, "Stop right there. What do you need."

Edward has warned Carlisle of the shifters' shaky emotional states and of their tendency toward overreaction and anger, so he's not surprised when Edward laughs a little and responds, "We were going to offer to stow your bags below, but you're welcome to carry them aboard. Unfortunately you'll have to hold them in your lap for the duration of the flight considering there are no overhead bins on my plane."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's... alright." He eyes the elders like a scolded child and informs him, "They're in the back."

"Pop the trunk." Harry and Billy don't say much, but there is a healthy dose of fear and caution for the two unknown vampires despite the trust they've placed in their young companion's judgment. Edward hears this, and decides to ignore their beady stares for the moment, hoping he'll have the time on their trip to remove their petty prejudice. When he and Carlisle both have two huge handfuls of assorted luggage, they move back towards the plane, leaving the wolves and their elders standing awkwardly around their vehicle. Edward exchanges an amused look with Carlisle, and shouts over his shoulder, "On the hop, gentleman. You're going to have to board the plane eventually."

Jared decides to add his two cents, "Can we wait until the last minute?"

"You're insinuating we stink?" When the three wolves glance among themselves in disbelief, Edward concedes, "Oh alright, you don't exactly smell like fresh daisies, either. Let's wait until the Chief gets here. And try not to act too conspicuously wolfy around him, alright? Some of us have our anonymity to maintain."

"Yeah, alright." Sam's response is about as flat as Edward's attempt at humor. They wait for only a few minutes until he arrives. When the Chief slides out of his cruiser, he is all smiles and satisfied fisherman. He greets Carlisle warmly with a familiar handshake and head nod and turns to Edward. They've yet to meet face-to-face, a fact that is not lost on him. Nevertheless, Edward shakes his hand firmly and makes solid eye contact, careful to appear as non-threatening as possible. When he hones in on Charlie's thoughts, he is only slightly surprised to find them muddled and partially obscure. It's obvious that Bella's quirk of mental silence is an inherited genetic trait. He's so excited by the prospect of studying the phenomenon that he can hardly contain his impulse to tell Carlisle on the spot. Instead, he marshals what little wherewithal he's maintained after meeting the father, and addresses the group, "Everybody ready? We've got a drive once we land, so let's go ahead and get in the air."

Once everyone is inside, Carlisle points out the pertinent interior attributes of the plane for the human passengers: the lavatory, the galley, etc. The wolves are especially impressed with the fully integrated, centrally installed gaming systems that have a monitor at each seat. To Edward, it's only evidence of the lengths Emmet will go to be close to weapons, cars, and sports, but he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't enjoyed them on occasion. After taking the pilot's chair, and making the final flight check, Edward comes over the intercom, "Buckle up folks, we're about to push."

In the midst of taxiing out to the runway, mashing buttons and pressing levers, he says to Carlisle, "Do you think we should tell them about Rose's engine modifications?"

"They're about to find out." They exchange an almost evil grin, and Edward pushes the throttle. One thing can be stated for certain, Rosalie Hale knows her engineering. The two dual-channel Rolls Royce turbofans that power the Citation are works of art after they come off the production line, but any subsequent changes that Rose makes only serve to show her absolute genius with engines. The new cruising speed is certainly illegal, and the acceleration off the runway is staggering, even for a vampire, so it's no surprise that they hear several groans of g-force displeasure as they careen down the tarmac. By the time they achieve liftoff, well short of the plane's advertised takeoff distance, they are traveling at over two hundred miles per hour. Edward mashes the throttle with gusto once they're off the ground, and every supernatural being on the plane delights at the rush. Edward realizes the simple feat they've already accomplished; Vampires and Shifters enjoying life together, hurtling in a copacetic direction.

* * *

Chapter Notes:

* Billy Black is not in a wheelchair. He has full use of his legs at the moment.

* The next update will be a continuation of the present narrative; for our next chapter we will continue on to Montana and the fishing trip.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to Stratan, the Correction Chief. And to all my readers and reviewers: Y'all are better than a private jet. Rock on.

I'd like to make another recommendation. If you are looking for a new story, here's one that I've enjoyed: Eternal Damnation by Zomniac .net/s/5246652/1/Eternal_Damnation

In Zomniac's own words: An ill tempered Bella and an easily annoyed Edward don't exactly mix well...at all. Will these two see each other only through their all-encompassing hatred, or will certain events open their eyes to the soul within? Why is it that their paths always seem to cross? Twilight told with a strong, angry Bella, and a more controlled, bad tempered Edward. B/E, AU, canon pairings, OOC

It's vampire Edward vs. Rough and Tumble, maybe-human, Bella. Enjoy the show.


	26. Casting and Conversation

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

They toy with the sound barrier simply for the auditory joy of the Doppler Effect applied to a sonic boom. In the midst of an elegant acceleration about halfway into the one hour and seven minute flight, the wolves are engrossed in a video game, faces showing complete concentration: jaws slightly unhinged, eyes watering slightly in refusal to blink, strapping physiques straining at seat belts as they attempt to climb into the screen. Insults are hurled, comebacks are bandied about. Charlie, Harry and Billy have been beatific watching the evening's baseball broadcast, sparing some attention for the boys when their playful gaming antics grow rowdy enough to shake the plane. Edward only comes over the intercom to settle the middle aged crowd's nerves, confidently delivering the calming lines considering the plane has withstood Emmet-sized enthusiasm. Moments later, he is pressing patterns into the lighted buttons of the Citation's control panel. "Do you think we should tell them that we fly without instrumentation?" Edward asks Carlisle, the ever-calm copilot.

"I think you just did," he responds, referring to the activated intercom system. Carlisle is stifling laughter as Edward retrieves the handset at his side, and attempts to put everyone in the plane at ease.

"Uh... Just kidding, gentlemen. This aircraft is far too sophisticated for blind flying." He sounds confident to the men in the passenger cabin, but his own ears would be burning if they could. Edward mimics a church mouse until the moment they land, letting Carlisle handle the descent announcements. He's stunned by it, but Charlie's presence has him flustered; the only person who makes him more nervous is Bella herself. Since he has trouble hearing their thoughts, Edward is wondering if this is what it's like for everyone else, to be uninformed and unaware. Though he's unnerved, he's also excited; the Swan family is his chance to experience some semblance of normality.

By the time Edward exits his thinking man's trance, Carlisle has pulled the plane off the tarmac in Helena, and into their private hanger. They seems to have outflown the tension that was present on the ground in Port Angeles, because the 6 passengers on the plane are bantering and bickering as they unload the aircraft and place their bags in the back of two late model, twin-turbo Porsche Cayennes. Like most of the Cullen family vehicles, the SUVs have been extensively modified, in this instance ,for off-road riding. Paul lets out a low whistle at the sight of the two black behemoths, and queries, "Can I drive?"

Edward is quick to answer, "Maybe tomorrow. But since it's getting late, why don't you let the two of us," he gestures to Carlisle, "navigate the unpaved driveway."

Carlisle interjects, "Who's riding where? This one's mine." At his prompting, the men split into groups of four. Jared, Harry, and Charlie end up in the car with Carlisle, while Billy, Paul and Sam hop into the black Porsche with Edward. Carlisle leads the convoy, with the Chief of Police in his front passenger seat, so he's careful to keep his speed at only a few miles per hour above the limit. Conversation in Edward's car is stilted, but for harmless reasons; the wolves, with their enhanced night vision, are taking in the scenery as it whips by the car's windows. Billy is quietly thoughtful, considering Edward and Carlisle's actions and words, weighing their hospitality against the possibility of treachery. He's also thinking about the treaty the elders want to enact. The unspoken terms are trying Edward's patience.

Between Charlie and Carlisle, the other car is getting along swimmingly; the two men's professions have brought them close enough to color their contact with candor. Carlisle has been clear with Edward that Charlie has exhibited every characteristic of a fair and unbiased lawman, without developing the typically untoward ego and arrogance of a small town cop. It's one phenomenon that the Cullen family is familiar with, that amidst small-town America, where they've spent the majority of the last three centuries, local law enforcement has a tendency to be intolerable, self-important, and idiotic. But Charlie Swan has avoided those perilous pitfalls, and his intelligence is clearly an indication that he is overqualified.

Soon they are turning onto the 5 mile gravel drive that will lead them to the cabin. Billy is becoming startled in the back seat when he considers that they'd been on a relatively deserted two lane highway for the better part of an hour before making the turn: he's begun to wonder if these vampires have a place to hide the bodies. Edward decides to put the silly man's mind at ease while holding back the secret of his mind reading, for the moment. "We own all the land on either side of the drive, starting at the turn off the highway back there. It's our largest piece of property at nearly 40 square miles. It gives us plenty of privacy."

Billy, having grown bold at Edward's respectful demeanor, is quick to interject his ludicrous opinions. "Privacy to do all sorts of things, I'm sure," he says under his breath. His mind is playing pictures of mass murder and orgiastic bloodletting.

Edward nearly stops the car, "Sam, Paul. Did you not inform the elders of our eating habits? Billy seems to be under the impression that we feed from humans."

"They told me," he says with a cynical, severe expression, "but I'll believe it when I see it. Cold Ones are all the same."

Edward's patience for this man's prejudice is wearing thin, "By that logic, it would be safe to say that all Indians are alcoholics. Did your daddy die of liver disease, Billy?"

"You racist asshole," Billy growls. Edward simply stares back, one eyebrow arched enough to show his smugness. Sam and Jared aren't happy with the conversation either, but they realize that Billy's accusations are unfair and ridiculous. Edward and Carlisle are acting in good faith, and in addition to being generous beyond belief, they are outnumbered and vulnerable. Sam interjects before the situation grows even more untenable, "Billy stop. We've seen drained animal carcasses all across Clallam County. We told you this. What's the deal? I know you're upset about Jake, but now is not the time to discuss this. Not without Jared and Harry." Edward hears the sorrow in Billy's mind for the fate of his young son; Jacob's shifter status already a foregone conclusion in his father's thoughts. Deciding not to apologize for the time being, Edward continues to monitor their thoughts, gathering information for the formal meeting scheduled for the following evening.

The tires crunch gravel as they grind to a stop outside the log cabin. The tension in the air is thick between the men riding in Edward's car, and he decides to say something before the one uninformed human guest has reasons to guess at their discomfort. "Billy, I'm sorry if I offended you, but you've developed opinions devoid of context or understanding. The world outside of what you know is beyond your imagination. I have struggled my _entire_ life to be something more than the bloodthirsty savages you've encountered, better than the nightmares that stalk and seduce. We share skin-deep similarities only. Add almost six hundred years of daily restraint, and a desire to better myself in spite of the choices taken from me, and you're left with no rights of accusation, whatsoever. Who are you to judge me, Billy Black?" Edward is turned in his seat, staring the startled man down with flat-black eyes, his stare intense but earnest. "Do not make that mistake again."

"Or what?" Billy simply doesn't know when to back down, despite the fear forcing his heart to flutter. "Is that some sort of threat?"

Edward rolls his eyes and glances between the two uncomfortable shifters whose thoughts show shame for their exhausting elder. He laughs as he looks back at Billy and says easily, "No, it was a suggestion. Now stop acting like a petulant child and pay attention." Before he can respond, Edward is out of the car and starting toward the trunk, taking in the conversation coming from the men in the other car. They are doing the same as Edward, unloading their belongings and moving towards the cabin, which has become a hot topic of conversation.

Carlisle is subtly bragging on the low slung log cabin that's built into the side of a hill. It looks slightly smaller than it is, but the nine-thousand square foot home, spread out over a single story, is completely off the grid. Technological updates to the home over the years have kept the Cullens from relying on outside power, as the current source comes from the earth itself; geothermal energy provides all the wattage necessary for the Cullens to experience every modern accessory and ludicrous luxury. Normally, the equipment and construction needs would be cost prohibitive, but Emmet, Jasper and Edward make an incredible drill team, and Rose's engineering knowledge comes through in spades. After some extensive planning and execution, the Cullen home has become impervious to blackouts or natural disaster, and the cavern housing the conducting copper-wire could become an incredibly effective bomb shelter, considering it's excavated to almost two miles. "The local area is conducive to this kind of technology because of the geothermal activity. One of the world's largest supervolcanos is scarcely 300 miles from here," Carlisle explains, silently hoping it doesn't erupt anytime soon.

Carlisle and Edward consider this to be their most awesome abode, and the group of wolves and men that follow them inside to the foyer understand exactly why. The large, open floor-plan living room is essentially a man-cave. Obscenely large flat-screens adorn all four walls, and super-sized sectional sofas are pointed squarely in those directions. The inside of the home is rustic, with unfinished redwood logs covering every interior surface, and the flooring is a luxuriously thick carpet; some of the wolves compare it to walking on a cloud. Dark brown leather furniture crowds around entertainment coves, colors like dirt and tree bark a subtle design touch enforced by Esme. Doors to bedroom suites occupy the back corners opposite the entrance and each wall so that there are five suites, enough for the full Cullen compliment and more.

The most entrancing feature of the house is a wide, circling staircase rising right in front of their feet that splits about halfway up the thirty foot high walls in the room and branches in two directions toward the walls adjacent the front door. By the time the curving wooden staircases come around completely, they are lead to an observatory directly above their heads and the foyer; it is open air porch with a view which, due to their elevation over the surrounding terrain, can see for scores of miles. The sights from their observation deck, which they immediately view as a group, are immaculate in the moonlight: hills and valleys intersect with rivers and streams amidst a forest that blankets the landscape. It's a spectacle straight from fantasy. The shifters and elders alike can't help but appreciate the stunning aspect to the extent that they erase one iota of prejudice, thinking, _If they can appreciate this, they can't be completely evil_.

With the late hour, and the temporary need to maintain their human facade in front of Charlie, Aedwaerth and Carlisle show everyone their rooms and retire for the time being, pretending to share a suite even though they've no need to sleep. After the non-vampires set about slumbering, they adjourn to the forest for a fraternal frolic in the river, deciding a shower will be inadequate to remove the shifter's stench after their prolonged proximity in the plane. Wrestling and rolling about in the river reminds them of younger, simpler times, when the pace of the world was something near stillness, like the whispering meander of the stream in which they stand. Water changes direction and channels aside against their solid forms, exactly like their influence over time: unseen boulders affecting the flow of the world around them.

Aedwaerth and Carlisle are mired in their own thoughts of the miraculous phantasms in which they've become involved. Between Bella's unbelievable arrival, to a weekend away with a pack of mutant, shapeshifting wolves, their world has been flipped on its ear; they'd grown so familiar with the flow of things that these surprises fill them with vigor, and they know irrevocable change is upon them. They are excited and intense, hopeful for the enrichment of friendship free of lies and evasions.

After a frenetic, competitive hunt, a feast of moose and bear, Aedwaerth and Carlisle make their way back to the cabin before sunrise. When they arrive, they find that the house is stirring. Almost all of the men are awake in their rooms and anxious for fishing. Knowing that trout bite early, they quickly fill the four, two-seater quads with their gear to go to the river. Aedwaerth requests that Charlie ride with him, immediately concerning the Quileutes, but there is little they can do when the Chief cheerfully agrees. Leading the way, the two men talk fly-fishing, an altogether different language, like they are long-lost brothers. On Aedwaerth's end, things could not be going better, and the Quileutes anger dissipates when they can hear their easy, friendly conversation. Though it confuses them and conflicts with their instincts, the more they get to know Aedwaerth and Carlisle, the less reason they have to fear and revile them; the shifters begin to see the similarities that Aedwaerth pointed out only a few weeks ago, and they are gradually accepting that they might be more _men_ than creatures, and not the enemies they suspected. It has a tremendous amount to do with Edward's mental abilities, reading people and saying what they want to hear, his unavoidable charm and swagger; no one can emulate a man who's had centuries of success in every type of conflict.

So the Quileutes don't even question when Aedwaerth and Charlie show everyone the spot, and then continue down the near bank, alone. The older men are too excited about the prospect of catching a "whopper," and the younger ones don't fear for Charlie. It's not a complete ruse that lures Charlie away from his weekend-warrior buddies, rather the promise of a "special spot" Edward has scoped out over the years. And it is special; Edward caught a thirty-seven pound rainbow, but the year predates Charlie's birth: 1969. So the thirty-nine year old, and the ancient, nearly ageless vampire fish together in almost familial silence for several hours. Charlie's casting is rusty, but it indicates an inherent athleticism that he neglected to bequeath to Bella. Edward takes stock of the man for a moment, lingering on the wiry black mustache, his most noticeable characteristic. He can see that Charlie takes care of his body, since he's fit-as-a-fiddle with lean, well developed muscles roped all around. Only generous amounts of beer and bar-food keep his weight hovering a few pounds above that of his high-school hey-day. Despite the wrinkles that rim his face from a stressful job environment, Edward can see the spark of youth behind his eyes, as if a boisterous young boy is hiding behind the badge.

Charlie catches him looking, and casts a wary eye in Edward's direction, "Take a picture, it'll last longer." The comment is too quiet to acknowledge, but Edward takes the opportunity to begin their discussion.

"May I speak with you? We have something to discuss." Fishing in the presence of Charlie's partially opaque mind is almost as soothing as fishing alone, but he can tell it will make this conversation much more complex.

"Sure, son. What's on your mind?" He's thinking it's somehow related his position as Police Chief.

"When I first came to town, I was a teacher at the high school. I taught several sections of biology, but I resigned last weekend, after only five days in class." Edward gives him time to respond.

"I heard a rumor about it. You mind if I ask why?"

Edward smiles sadly and thinks, _These Swans certainly are direct._ Then he says, "It was no longer in the best interest of my students, and I decided there was no real future for me at Forks High."

"You came to that decision in a week?"

Aedwaerth begins to strip away the pretenses of his humanity, the added insignificance that rounds out his facade. He stops blinking first, and informs, "Here's one thing about me you'll come to learn, Charlie, I am much wiser than I appear; my family has been deferring to my judgment for years."

"Aren't you the youngest?" There is a gut reaction: Charlie is fighting not to fear the man standing before him in waders. He even thinks about how ridiculous it is, but loses his focus when Aedwaerth starts moving a little too quickly for a human.

"My appearance may deceive you into that conclusion, but there's not a simple truth to be found there." Aedwaerth ceases motion before, at ten paces away, leaping ashore from knee deep water off of one foot, takes two slowing steps and turning around next to a sizable boulder. He sits down, and begins to remove the waders as if nothing abnormal had taken place, but the policeman not ten yards away, thigh-deep in the Blackfoot, knows now for certain that something is amiss.

"How old are you, Edward?" His mustache twitches with the effort to remain emotionless, to keep the adrenaline from sparking his flight.

"That's a complicated question, Charlie. Are you prepared for something out of the ordinary?" All traces of Aedwaerth's humanity vanish as he says this. Modulating the inflection of his vampiric voice, squaring his shoulders, widening his unblinking eyes, and going stock-still has the effect of evaporating Charlie's reckless emotions; and it is observable and obvious to a seasoned police officer that Aedwaerth is something other. Charlie realizes that Edward, whatever he is, is attempting to show his stranger side, but his profession is a practical extension of one of Charlie's most prominent and innate characteristics: curiosity. In this case, his need to know cannot be repressed.

Edward doesn't want the Charlie to fear him, so he backs off and says, "I think the more appropriate question, Charlie, is 'what year was I born?'"

Charlie swallows laboriously, and levels a hardened look at Edward. But his voice quavers when he quotes, "What year were you born?"

"Four-hundred twenty three." As he stumbles to the nearby shore and collapses on the bank, Charlie's thoughts are so shielded with shock that Aedwaerth has no idea what he is thinking.

When he speaks, it's without a quiver or cough, and he confidently assesses, "For some strange reason, I believe you."

"Good, because I need you to trust me eventually, Charlie. And I am telling you the truth."

"But why are you telling me? And why am I here? Is this some sort of prank-the-average-joe schtick?" And the anger appears, forehead veins fill to bursting.

"No joke, and I'll get to all of that if you're really ready for it. But my differences don't end with my immortality, my friend, and you need to know them. Before I go into it with you, I need you to swear yourself to secrecy here and now. Both our lives depend on it. There are others of my kind who uphold our single law: no one must know of our existence. Though you must be circumspect about it, you may speak to a few of the Quileutes if you wish. Only those in attendance this weekend."

"Why them?"

"They have their own secrets, which aren't mine to tell, but it makes them privy to my world. Would you like to know all about me, Charlie? Walk on through to the other side?"

Charlie wanders ashore, walking a wide circle around where Edward sits next to the quad, and takes his sweet time in removing his fishing gear. Methodically packing his things away gives him the time necessary to process this unexpected bit of information, and the courage to embrace the change of new knowledge. "Too far gone, now. I can't say I'm not curious. There are things I've seen that made me wonder..." Edward sees a hazy, fuzzed memory of men in suits standing over a fire, wispy purplish smoke sifting through his mind, but Charlie continues before the scene can fully play out, "But I'd like to receive a promise from you, too. Never let any harm come to my family or me for this, for the knowledge I'm about to have."

"I will never let that happen." The look that passes between the two men at that moment cements their friendship forever, because there's something in his eyes that Charlie trusts, and both men value loyalty above all other things in their friendships. It's a stare that encapsulates mutual regard and respect, aligning interests, and matching raw emotion. Charlie is still in the dark about Aedwaerth's ultimate intentions, but he can sense the precipice on which they stand, the importance of their shared promise. When they shake hands to seal their pact, Charlie notices the cold, marble inflexibility and immediately inquires.

So Edward begins the arduous process of informing a human of all their misconceptions on the natural order of things.

For Charlie, it's a staggering realization that he is no longer at the top of the food chain, but he handles this with aplomb, akin to a crime scene investigator cataloging and collecting data: detached and emotionally devoid, efficient and effortless. Edward is impressed by his attitude and demeanor as he tells him about the staggering strength, speed, their enhanced vision, smell, hearing, brains. Edward catches himself before he says something along the lines of, "We're basically augmented in every way," since he's hesitant to seem cocksure in front of Bella's father. He doesn't want to sound insulting, even if the arrogance is accurate. He goes on to tell that he was transformed by another one like him, and that he changed, or was present at the change of, all his family members, giving a short bit about each one and how they came to be with him and when. Charlie is amusedly incredulous about Edward's age, joking that he's still younger because of his appearance by pointing out, "You haven't earned these wrinkles, kid."

To which Edward replies, "In many ways, I will always retain the sensibilities of a twenty-three year. Though my actions have shifted, the way I think will not."

Charlie's questions are more penetrating than his daughter's, and Edward fights the instinct to skirt around specifics. Diving in headlong he says, "You know of my kind from myth. Though most interpretations are, as you now know, wildly inaccurate or highly embellished. But before I tell you what particular horror story I hail from, let me assure you that I do not have a typical diet. I eat animals, just like you... only my meals are a bit raw for your tastes." Edward hesitates, hanging on the thread of his good impression, hoping Charlie won't hold his vampirism against him.

"Out with it, Edward. You're making me nervous." Edward eyes him with an incredulous look, cocks one eyebrow and hangs an open-mouthed smile as if to say, Y_ou ought to be but aren't. __Just like_ _your daughter_.

"I'm a vampire."

After muttering, "Damn," followed by a long, low whistle, in true Swan fashion, the Chief does something Edward doesn't expect. Charlie's reaction is strange, in that he doesn't seem startled or scared; he's got his head cocked to the side, eyes glued to Edward like he's staring down a suspect, and he's toying with his mustache, twisting it between a finger and thumb.

The 'stache smoothing continues for a moment, and then Charlie says, "You're a Cold One. But not like the ones in their stories." There's no hesitance in his voice, and Edward can see that he's piecing together the Quileute legends from a vague campfire memory. He continues, "I didn't buy that bullshit back then, but I always wondered if there wasn't some grain of truth there. Myths like that are ubiquitous, you know. So why couldn't there be somebody like you?" Edward just nods, well aware of the Quileute storytelling, and gives Charlie more time to mull things over, because clearly his mind is racing through the implications. "So... you've got super speed, strength, enhanced senses. A better brain, and impenetrable bodies, and you drink blood from animals?"

"Yes. I do now." Edward is subtly suggesting that may not always have been the case, but Charlie doesn't seem to notice amidst his busy mind, and it's as far as he's willing to go toward telling him of his indiscretions beyond being asked a direct question. He may be capable of telling Charlie his dirty secrets, but leading with news of his many murders is unwise.

"Any other abilities you're leaving out?"

"Actually, yes. Sometimes, a human will have strong traits that carry over into the next life. Alice, my youngest, is psychic, to a certain extent. What made her insane as a human, and precipitated her institutionalization, has turned out to be a fortuitous gift. She can see the outcomes of decisions, particularly of those close to her. Jasper, her... partner," he's hesitant to use the word 'mate,' in light of upcoming information, "was particularly sensitive to the emotions of others before. Now, as a vampire, he can sense and manipulate emotions."

"What about you?" Chief Swan sounds expectant, like Edward's extra abilities are a given.

Nodding at his astute observation, "I have a talent as well. I can read the thoughts of those around me; a result of my intuition and uncanny ability to accurately read people as a human, perhaps, but now I can hear just about everyone." As he says this, he starts to smile widely at the Chief, because when he informs him of his abilities, the Chief's mind goes suddenly silent. When Edward focuses in on him, he can hear a frantic whisper of the usual thoughts someone has when he first informs them of his gift, but it's difficult to pick up. It seems that with some effort, Charlie can focus and control his mental shield. As his eyes grow wider and his heart starts to race, Edward soothes, "Relax, this is one of the reasons I'm telling you about myself. I've only met two people in my entire one-thousand-five-hundred-eighty-seven years that could thwart me in this way. You are one of those people." The Chief finally seems as stunned as he should be. Maybe the stress of all this new data has pushed him to the limit, but from his faint thoughts, it seems he's just confused. He'd never guessed that he himself might be anything but ordinary, and Edward catches the mental whisper, _just another small town cop._ Edward is quick to inform him, "No you aren't."

"I thought you said..."

"Well, I can't hear everything you think. I would compare it to a radio station at the edge of its range."

"I'd better watch what I think, huh?"

"I'll give you what privacy I can, Charlie, and I won't purposefully embarrass you, but it's not something that I can control. Thoughts come unbidden and unwanted. If I were you, I'd be glad you can block me at all, as most don't have that luxury." Edward quickly informs him of his theory that Charlie may be able to control and practice his abilities to block him, and they make a pact to practice at a later date.

Charlie adds sympathetically, "It must be hard to have no filter for that. I'd imagine most people's thoughts aren't too pleasant." Edward agrees with a slow nod, noting Charlie's intuitive empathy, even while hosting his own small pity party; his gift has been an asset to him, saved his life, helped his family, but it's been a potent burden to bear at times. Having someone who's sort-of silent is soothing to him, so he informs his new friend of this fact, who promptly dismisses the compliment with the wave of his hand.

After a few more moments of silence in contemplation, Charlie opens up the figurative can-of-worms, "You said that there was one other person who could block you. Are they still around?"

Edward can't help but laugh nervously, "Oh yes, she's still around. And I need to tell you who it is." His intonation would be considered appropriate for a eulogy, and he hopes that he won't be reading the death of his love life shortly. "But you're not going to like it." Charlie sucks in a quick breath and mutters "oh God," but Edward presses on, "It's your daughter, Charlie. It's Bella."

"Something tells me that ain't all, Edward. What else is there?" The vein on Charlie's head is pulsing, but from his thoughts, Edward can see that he's not entirely angry. Even though his voice is calm, there's an edge to it that is unrecognizable.

"Before I say another word about Bella, I need you to understand a few things. We need to be clear with one another, Chief."

"You're right about that. And you've been forthcoming with me up until now, so don't stop."

Edward isn't exactly sure what he means when he says, "I don't intend to." Then he tells Charlie about Carlisle and Esme's first encounter, and how their thoughts mirrored each other's so perfectly, how the attraction was instant and mutually beneficial. He spins the roller-coaster ride of Emmet and Rose, how similar their first encounter was to the previous couple, and about the protection Rose needed that only Emmet could've provided. He hurts when he explains Alice, and her visions of Jasper, and about their power and intensity that was so profound that they wept tearlessly upon realizing it would be decades before she found him. Throughout his tale, Charlie becomes more frantic in his actions, fidgeting and flexing, and more resigned in his mind. "I fell in love with your daughter the moment I first saw her in my classroom, Charlie. And I truly am sorry to have involved Bella and you in my world, as dangerous as it is, but I have no more control over it than I do over gravity or the next presidential election. I have loved no one else in all my life, and I will never love another."

Charlie's livid when he exclaims, "She's just a child! She's my child! And only seventeen. What do you want from her, Edward? I won't let you take her." Edward is worried about the wolves downstream, that they may have overheard his outburst.

"I know she's young. That's why I'm involving you. I would never do anything against her will, especially not while she's still so young. Can you believe that I have only her best interests in mind?" Edward attempts to ease the man's roiling rage, and it seems to be working.

Taking a step towards the reclined vampire, Charlie levels a hard look in his direction and inquires, "I'd taze you, but it'd do no good, huh?" This inquiry is Charlie's way of acknowledging his complete impotence in Edward's world, and his blood runs cold when he fully understands the futility of fighting this otherworldly love. Edward responds with an expressionless shake of his head. Charlie deflates and continues, "You could leave. Never come back, and let her live a normal life." While speaking, Charlie stands and begins to aim his finger, then drops his hand and himself back into the driver's seat of the quad. "But you won't will you?" This situation has Charlie torn in two; the dichotomy in his reactions is exhausting as he swells and sinks, flexes, flails and fails.

"Not unless she orders me away." In Charlie's mind, Edward can see that her father noticed his distracted daughter's behavior throughout the week. He saw the shift in her step, a liveliness behind her eyes. He'd been unable to place her spirited smiling, or the energetic attention she'd paid to him at first, but then she'd been humming a tune Edward played for her on the piano, lit up from the inside when Charlie realized that there must be some new love in her life; somebody had caught her attentions in a singular way, and it scared him considering that Swans are such constant creatures.

Now that he's made the connection, he's trying to be angry and only comes up heartbroken, since he would never forsake his only daughter's happiness, even if he'd deny his own. He trusts Bella more than most fathers do, knowing her unusual maturity and penchant for adult reasoning. Charlie is a smart man, so he's thinking several things: Edward needs Bella for the foil of her mind; his daughter is either already in love with him, too, or well on her way; Edward may be the only man who's enough for her; and he will take her away from him well before he's ready for the loss. Edward interrupts when he hears the heartrending thoughts emanate, "Charlie, no. That's why you're here, so that I wouldn't have to do that to you, or her; she needs you in her life, just as you need her in yours. I'm not here to take that away. She's my family now, if she'll have me. Which means... you are my family, as well."

Charlie is slack-jawed with shock, certain that he's hearing things. He'd been imagining scenarios where Bella left him, and he spent the rest of his miserable life trying to chase down something that doesn't exist for the rest of the world. Or bereft, wifeless and childless, lonely as a career-cop. "But I thought..."

Edward smirks and interrupts, "I know what you thought. And you were wrong. I've made mistakes in my time here, Charlie." He's referring to his millennia of murder, as well as countless other errors. "But your daughter still needs her father, and I will never take chances with her future happiness."

"You really love her, don't you?"

"It's irrevocable." Edward gains eye contact with Charlie and does his best to describe the bond, "I belong to her, Charlie. She owns me in every way. You have no more to fear from me than you do from your daughter's decision making. I am hers to do with what she will, and I wouldn't have it any other way." He struggles back the lump that rises in his throat when he says, "As you well know, she's absolutely wonderful. I never imagined a more perfect person for me in all my years."

"So she knows all about you, then?" Edward nods and Charlie continues his questioning, "She's young. How are you going to handle that?" And the protective father, assured of his position once again, asserts his influence.

"It means that I must give her time to grow. Let you continue to parent her, and nurture her in what ways I'm capable. Teach her things, and learn from her, alike. Not push our relationship too fast or too soon. Abide by your guidelines, should Bella find them acceptable." Edward grins at his future father-in-law, letting him know without doubt that Bella is his guiding light. "Charlie, I am something other than a regular man, and with that comes a whole host of lost opportunity for Bella. But I can offer her a life unlike any other."

"All this material stuff? I know how rich you must be, to own land like this. She won't care about your things."

"No, that's not what I'm referring to at all. It's the opportunity to witness. To see empires rise and fall, to watch our world ebb and flow along the lines of right and wrong, weak and strong. It's the chance to have eternal, undying love. And to run!" Edward's enthusiasm is catching, he has Charlie's rapt attention. "You can't imagine what it feels like to fly forward on your own two feet." Edward is smiling sadly when he stops, looks back at Bella's father, then says, "It's a chance at eternal life. I don't know what you think about death or what lies beyond, but this is a guarantee: If Bella is with me, she will never die. If she chooses, I will protect her from death forever; until the sun turns to ash, we will remain side-by-side."

Charlie would be lying to himself if he said the idea was entirely unappealing. As an absentee Presbyterian, he has conflicting thoughts about the possibility of heaven or hell, or anything beyond bones rotting in a grave. In his mind, he can see Bella transformed and perfect, feet flying through the forest, ever-young, always safe, and it gives him some peace to know that she could be happy, indefinitely. Charlie's intuition isn't foolproof, but he's relied heavily on it in his work, and it serves him satisfactorily; with his efforts, Edward is on the right track towards earning Charlie's trust. That the man sitting beside him came forward to inform him only serves to affirm his belief in Edward as an honorable man; Charlie knows that, with his skills, he could have kept this completely quiet. For the Chief, honesty is always the best policy, probably from his years of making deals with criminals who came clean, and the fact of Edward's forthright manner, his willingness to divulge his dangerous secrets for his daughter's sake is engendering goodwill.

With the remaining energy he possesses, Charlie levels a powerfully parental looks at Edward, and informs, "It will always be her choice." Edward responds without hesitation, assuring Charlie that Bella is his boss.

Both men remain rooted in their seats, contemplating the changes their conversation has created for several minutes until Edward removes the man from his reverie, "Let's head back up to the house. The others are there, already having lunch." They finish loading the quad in silence, both men meticulously avoiding any close contact. A random thought occurs to Edward as they bounce along the dirt trail leading back to the cabin, and he broaches the subject with Charlie, "One more thing we need to discuss."

At his side, Charlie flinches visibly, and cringes as he grinds out, "What is it?"

"Bella's truck. It has to go." After returning to the cabin, Charlie eats sparingly, and excuses himself to his room for the remainder of the day, complaining of a sour stomach. Billy and Harry are skeptical, but believe there's been no foul play as the evening winds down and he makes no further appearance.

That evening, the Quileutes, along with Edward and Carlisle, gather for their initial meeting in order to establish what they have internally termed a "treaty." Both Edward and Carlisle are slightly amused at the insistence on formality, but don't let their humor show; they are firmly set on earning amicable relations with the tribe, even if it means enduring some childish nonsense. The elders, from the legends they grew up with and the shifters, from their past experiences with vampires, are understandably skittish when it comes to Edward's family of interlopers. Carlisle is only glad that they didn't encounter this particular tribe of supernatural natives in an earlier generation, given the modern day's sense of objective tolerance. Though the Quileutes may not like it, they have been influenced by Western Culture, for better or worse, but that doesn't stop them from beginning the meeting with a ridiculous request.

Once everyone is settled, Sam starts, "We'd like you to leave the Olympic Peninsula."

It's dark, so only the shifters notice Edward's exaggerated eye roll, "No. Do you have any idea the kind of preparation required to start over in a new location? In this day and age, it is the definition of tedium. Not aging is awfully inconvenient when you consider the sheer weight of the United States government's bureaucracy."

"You've got plenty of money and practice at it. Leave." This time it's Billy who speaks up. It's clear to Edward that Billy Black is the one persistently pressing this proposal.

Carlisle offers his opinion, his reasonable tone in stark contrast to Edward's blunt delivery, "Try to understand, gentlemen, that the added pressure of technological advances available to the authorities makes our anonymity ever more difficult to maintain. It's harder to penetrate the systems every time we move." Carlisle contemplates their request for another moment, then asks, "Why are you so eager to have us gone? We've shown we're no threat to you. Why are you so eager to refuse our offer of friendship?"

"We don't need you." Paul's upper lip is curled in disgust, a sneer etched into his dark skin by instinct and independence. His biting tone doesn't dissuade the vampire pair.

Edward, seeing Carlisle's line of thought, quickly asks, "We know this. But do you value the secrecy of your shifting?" They respond in unanimous affirmative; the Quileutes grasp the gravity of their situation, understand the need to remain undiscovered, unknown to the outside world.

Carlisle's years of practiced empathy is an invaluable asset as he counters, "What happens if one of you falls ill? You can't very well go to doctor – I guarantee that they'll detect your differences immediately. I'd be more than willing to provide medical care. To the entire tribe for that matter, since I'm guessing that many of your people carry the latent shifting trait. Free of charge, of course. And we have our aforementioned skills in avoiding authorities, which I'm sure would be of use to you. We'd be more than happy to teach you the art of 'keeping a low profile'." Carlisle places air-quotes around the odd idiom; its context escaping him even if he's capable of using the unfamiliar phrase.

Harry speaks with genuine curiosity, "Why not live like the others?" His mind is shifting gears, intrigued as he is at their unflagging sincerity and generosity.

Edward glances at Carlisle, who gestures for him to field the question, "This is the crux of your disbelief: that we desire to live like you do, inasmuch as that's possible. Our family _is_ different, and our unconventional lifestyle gives us joy. I have spent many lifetimes alone, wandering through the wilderness, and it is an entirely empty existence. We desire to live amongst humans because we have more in common with you than we do with those of our kind who drink human blood." He levels an annoyed but patient look at Billy Black.

Sam speaks again, "We think the reason that our transformation occurred was the presence of vampires. Would it make a difference to you if your presence was triggering other Quileute teenagers to turn into wolves?"

"That's an interesting theory, Sam." Carlisle's mind is in overdrive, but Edward presses on, "I guess that would depend on your opinion on whether your youngsters shifting is a bad thing, or a good one. I'm inclined toward the latter."

Billy is quick to interject, despite the mixed emotions the shifters themselves share on the subject, "What could possibly be good about our young men becoming monsters?"

Edward answers, "They can defend your people against vampires you _actually_ need to worry about." He cocks an eyebrow, bemused, and continues, "They are blessed with a variety of physical gifts, some of which you've yet to enlighten us about, and I'd be willing to bet that they have an extended life span." Consternation colors their thoughts when he lights on this particular topic, and they're annoyed that they confirmed his theory through their reaction. "I've been to every continent, and almost every country on the entire planet, and I have _never_ discovered a group as unique and gifted as the Quileute people. You ought to be proud of your sons' abilities, despite the hardships they may bring. And make no mistake, the ability to shift from a human being into a horse-sized wolf capable of destroying a vampire is an extraordinary gift." Edward is smiling and emphatic at this last declaration, and the shifters swell with pride when he reveals their singular abilities.

After glancing at Harry and Billy, Sam shifts the tempo of the meeting entirely, and Edward can sense that they're close to convincing the Quileutes of their good intentions. Sam softly asks, "You came to us, invited us to your home for no reason we can understand, Edward." He's almost desperate when he inquires, "What do you want?"

"Nothing so sinister as you imagine, young man." Edward winks at Carlisle, who understands immediately that the meeting has moved in their favor, that they won't be constantly caught off guard by their emotional and indignant demands. "Carlisle and I, for all that we appear, are scholars. I've spent the last three centuries in school, attempting to understand the world around me – to share and create knowledge. Carlisle is a doctor who desires to understand vampires and humans well enough to diagnose and appropriately eliminate any ailment. These things give us purpose and allow us to contribute to mankind even though we're removed from it. So firstly, we'd like to understand you, discover the wonderful and miraculous mechanism behind your shifting."

Sam is nonplussed, "You want to study us." Edward laughs lightly at his stony statement.

"In so many words, yes. But this would not be invasive information gathering. Maybe some blood and DNA samples. What we'd really like to do is set up some instrumentation and examine the exact moment of transformation, but it goes without saying that we'll not do anything without your permission." Edward has no problem with this outright lie, considering that they'll almost certainly have several different types of DNA samples simply from the shifter's short stay at the cabin.

Paul snickers and elbows Jared, whispering, "Nerdy vamps. Heh heh. Can you believe this shit?"

Edward doesn't even bother to pretend he didn't hear him, announcing, "You find ways to pass the time, Paul. I'd be interested to see what kind of hobbies you developed over sixteen centuries."

"I sure as shit wouldn't still be single. I'd slay some pussy, that's for sure." The elder's roll their eyes, but can't hide some small smiles.

Edward is quick to retort, "Or develop history's most persistent case of carpel tunnel." He pantomimes a particularly lewd act of self-gratification, and the small crowd, after a moment of stunned silence, bursts into laughter at Paul's expense.

Jared, privy to some unfortunately accurate recollections, even amidst his gasping laugh goes so far as to announce, "He's got you pegged, Paul."

After the moment passes, Sam persists, "So you want to study us. We'll consider it, and get back to you, I suppose. I can tell you that your knowledge will come at an equal price; we'd like to know more about your kind, as well."

"Sounds perfectly reasonable."

"So what else?"

"That's our only direct request. Other than that, we'd simply like to keep an honest, open line of communication between our two families. There may come a time when we require your assistance, or vice versa. It has been my experience, my _extensive_ experience, that you can never have too many friends. And while you may still consider friendship beyond the realm of possibility, I'd like you to consider it."

Carlisle interjects, "Again, I'd like to offer my services, as a medical professional, to any and all Quileute people, free of charge, and establish a free clinic on the reservation."

"You can't buy our acceptance, Carlisle." Sam's voice betrays his astonishment at their continued generosity.

"You'd actually be doing us a favor. As you can see, we have more money than we know what to do with. Quite frankly, it's become an inconvenience to have amassed so much wealth. In order to stay off certain corporate radars, we participate in a variety of philanthropic endeavors. We'd like to do this for your people, as a gesture of our goodwill. I don't even have to be involved, if that would make you more comfortable. We can hire human doctors to do the clinical work."

The Quileutes are quiet after Carlisle's consistent offer, and after a moment a conference, they request a second meeting after they've had additional time to discuss the changing situation. As the Quileutes leave the circle light provided by the bonfire, Edward offers one more thought, "There can be more than just peace between us, Quileutes. Move beyond the cage of your instincts. We have."

Billy turns to regard Edward as he issues his cryptic comment, and as he does, trips on a root arcing across his path. His hand grinds on gravel as he braces his fall, shearing his skin and exposing fresh blood to the open air. Sam immediately presses the startled man behind him and crouches in preparation to shift while the other shifters mirror his position.

Edward doesn't contain his laughter this time at their overeager antics. "Please. Carlisle and I have both performed open-heart surgery. Even if we were thirsty, which we aren't, his blood would _not_ be appetizing. He smells like Black and Milds, beer and Cheetos. _Blech."_

As Edward finishes his annoyed admonishment, Carlisle's thoughts startle him, and he does an abrupt about-face in order to make eye contact with his companion. "Are you sure, Carlisle?"

He responds impatiently, "His A1C is at nearly fifteen percent. The other scent markers are there, as well." Both men are saddened by the realization that they must impart such bad news at this auspicious beginning. They don't place much importance on omens, or any of the like, but the significance of this revelation at this precise moment leaves them with a stone settled in their stomachs.

Carlisle's confident bedside manner is suddenly present as he soothes, "Billy, may I speak to you in private?"

Sam immediately misinterprets. "Don't even think about it, leech," he growls.

"You've misunderstood me. I've smelled something troubling in your blood, Billy. I'd like to speak to you as a doctor."

Everyone's posture relaxes, except Billy, whose heart is thundering with trepidation. "What is it." This man is a far cry from the blustering, brash Quileute elder; all of the sudden, he is simply a scared patient. "Just tell me. They'll know eventually, so get on with it."

"I'll need to run some tests to be absolutely sure, but I wouldn't venture this diagnosis without a high level of certainty. I'm ninety-nine percent sure you have diabetes."

* * *

A/N: Here's part 2. Thanks to Stratan, who slogged through this chapter and fixed several serious issues. As always, thanks to all you folks out there reading and reviewing. Rock on.

Next up- a young Joan of Arc, and the Renaissance: vamp-style.


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